


These Unquiet Spirits

by jonibeloni (Joni_Beloni), jonius_belonius (Joni_Beloni)



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Drama, Dubious Consent, Harvey and Donna are Detectives, Humor, M/M, Mike sees ghosts, Minor Violence, Possession, Smut, ghostly voyeurism, homicide case
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 41,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21829021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joni_Beloni/pseuds/jonibeloni, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joni_Beloni/pseuds/jonius_belonius
Summary: Mike sees and talks to ghosts. Harvey solves murders with his partner, Donna. When Mike stumbles across a dead body, who happens to be the latest victim of the serial killer being hunted by the two detectives, he becomes their number one suspect.
Relationships: Mike Ross/Harvey Specter
Comments: 197
Kudos: 283





	1. Chapter 1

Mike sensed the ghost’s arrival before he saw her.

_ The taste of burnt paper on his tongue. A thickening in air pressure, a whiff of ozone, and a shiver that rippled through his body like the faint buzz of electricity. _

No, not her, he noted with a surprise which he carefully concealed from the client, a middle-aged woman named Amelia Rayburn. This was the ghost of a man, approximately sixty years old.

“Well?” asked Amelia, eyes wide, “is she here? Is Aunt Eunice in the room?”

Aunt Eunice was not in the room. She’d been dead for three months, and had likely moved toward the light in an orderly fashion, just like the vast majority of the dearly departed he was asked to contact. 

Mike didn’t say so out loud. Instead, he breathed heavily, in and out, as if with a great effort. “I … I feel a presence,” he gasped, and pressed the button underneath the table that sent a quick puff of air at the candles, causing the flames to waver.

The very male ghost rolled its eyes at him.

Amelia squirmed excitedly in her chair. “Aunt Eunice? It’s me, Amelia. How are you?”

The ghost floated across the room to levitate directly in front of Amelia. “She’s dead, you ignorant cow. How do you think she is?”

Mike cleared his throat, covering the nervous laugh that had bubbled up. He gave the ghost a hostile glare. “What,” he asked, “would you like to say to your dear Aunt Eunice?”

The ghost crossed his arms and cocked his hip to one side, as if he was leaning against the edge of an invisible table. He wore a suit that Mike judged was about fifty years out of date. “Ten to one, she wants to know where that priceless brooch is, or some such thing. So cliché. So predictable.”

Tempting as it was to order the ghost to shut up, Mike pressed his lips together and waited for Amelia’s reply.

“Eunice?” she asked in a quavering voice. “We need to know where you hid the key to your safety deposit box. Oh, and if that magnificent gold necklace isn’t in the box, that too, Where did you hide the necklace?”

The ghost gave Mike an ironic, triumphant look, flipped him off and disappeared. Another burst of charred paper hit Mike’s tongue.

Amelia stared at Mike, hopeful avarice lighting her eyes.

Mike was still trying to formulate a response that wouldn’t require issuing Amelia a refund, when the ghost rematerialized.

“Evidently,” said the spirit, “Eunice kept a shoebox in the back of the closet.”

Mike shot him a skeptical look, but repeated this new information to Amelia. “She says you should look in the shoebox in the back of her closet.” 

Amelia’s face fell. She directed her gaze upwards, as if she could see Eunice hovering near the ceiling. “But Aunt Eunice, we’ve already cleared out your room. Everything’s gone, given to family and friends, or donated.”

Mike glanced at his watch. “I don’t know what else to tell you. She insists there was a shoebox. She, er, also says to tell you she’s proud of you, and wishes you the best.” 

The ghost let out a snort. “She said no such thing. Quite the opposite, actually, but I’m too much of a gentleman to repeat it all.”

Ignoring him, Mike reached over to turn on the floor lamp. “I’m sorry, but our time is up.”

The ghost flapped his hand at Mike in a _suit yourself_ gesture, and disappeared.

Amelia’s lower lip quivered. “But we haven’t resolved anything.”

“Did you not hear the part about her being proud of you?” Mike looked at his watch again. If he didn’t wrap this up in a hurry, he was going to be late for his bartending job.

“But, the necklace …. Maybe she could, you know, fly around the city and look for it?”

If the male ghost was still there, Mike might have exchanged an eyeroll with him. As it was, all he could do was maintain his practiced, professional smile. “It’s an inexact science. Not a science at all, really. Perhaps you could find peace in knowing that she’s in a better place.”

“Your ad said you guarantee results.”

“That doesn’t always mean what you want it to mean.”

Amelia seemed inclined to argue the point further. Mike knew her type. She’d demand a refund, perhaps threaten to go to the authorities and expose him as a fraud. She’d paid her hundred dollars in cash, though, and Mike couldn’t afford to return it. Rent was due in three days and he was still several hundred dollars short.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said in his most placating tone, “go home, look for that shoebox, and think about what you learned here today. If you feel you need something more after that, shoot me an email, and we’ll see about scheduling another session, free of charge.”

She didn’t look happy, but finally collected her coat and left.

“Be sure to give me a favorable Yelp review,” he called after her, then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, and looked around the apartment for the strange ghost. No burnt paper taste. No smell of ozone. The spectral asshole was gone.

******

Mike saw his first ghost when he was eleven. It was his father, who had just died in a car crash, along with Mike’s mother. He appeared in Mike’s bedroom the night of the crash to keep silent watch over him, before fading away with the first light of dawn. That was the last Mike had seen of him.

The next ghost had appeared a few years later. One of his middle school classmates didn’t show up for school one day. Eventually the news went around that she had fallen ill and died within a matter of days. She followed Mike around the halls of the school for several weeks, chattering away about the homework she was behind on and the spring dance for which she needed a date. Mike made the mistake of holding conversations with her in public, and ended up having a standing weekly appointment with the guidance counsellor for nearly six months.

After that, he exercised more care in his communications with the undead. Thankfully, they mostly left him alone for the next several years. When he enrolled at Columbia, it seemed as if the spirit world had just been waiting for him to reach his majority. He was assailed at least once a week, sometimes more, by former students who had died from everything ranging from appendicitis, to a drug overdose, to suicide. The dead professors tended more toward heart disease, cirrhosis of the liver, cancer, and the occasional homicide.

He didn’t know what drew them to him, but could only assume that they knew, somehow, that he was the only one that could see them or could hear them and hold a conversation with them. His best course of action might have been to ignore them, but that wasn’t always possible. The freshly dead in particular tended to be an insistent, mouthy bunch. As long as he listened to what they had to say, maybe offered some words of support, they generally moved on after a time.

The ghosts who had been hanging around the earthly plane for a while were often more interesting to talk to. They’d seen a lot as they wandered through the city and might regale him for hours with stories of what they’d seen. The ghosts that were tethered to a particular location tended towards the dour and neurotic. Mike could empathize with them. If he’d been stuck inside for decades staring at the same four walls, he guessed he’d be cranky too. Even though he understood why they were the way there were, he kept his distance whenever possible.

It had been Trevor who’d given him the idea of cashing in on his weird gift. So far, his clients were few and far between, but he harbored hopes that he could eventually work his way toward fulltime mediumship. Who knew? He might even get famous one day, write a book, get a million followrs on Twitter. In the meantime, the clients who showed up at his door helped out in the lean months, and provided opportunities to hone his craft. He’d begun experimenting with ways to attract the right ghosts, but it was still hit and miss. Well, almost exclusively miss. 

The gentleman ghost who had shown up tonight might have been annoying, but he’d also been extraordinarily helpful. Perhaps Mike could cultivate a friendship with him, or someone like him. With a sidekick like that, he could really up his game. Next time the ghost showed up – if there was a next time – Mike would have to be nicer, ask him his name, and suck up to him a bit. He only hoped he hadn’t been lying about Aunt Eunice.

******

Mike was on his bike, sprinting full out, still optimistic that he’d make it to _Somerby’s_ before his shift started. He was on thin ice with Trevor already. They’d been friends long enough that he wouldn’t fire Mike (probably), but he wasn’t above fucking him over on the schedule for the next few weeks.

He was only three blocks away when a woman stepped into the street, directly in his path. He didn’t register the taste of burnt paper on his tongue until he’d jammed on his brakes so hard that he nearly pitched over the handlebars. Then he caught a whiff of ozone and felt the subtle electric tingle go through him.

“Shit,” he muttered, scanning the vicinity for the ghost and finding her hovering at the mouth of an alley. She wore a dark pencil skirt, and her white blouse was soaked with blood. What he’d thought at first was a choker or scarf, he realized with a surge of nausea, was actually a thick line of blood and separated flesh where her throat had been cut. “This is not a good time,” he hissed at her.

She only stared back at him, eyes huge and sad, and floated more than walked into the alley.

With the bike still between his legs, Mike stared at the dark opening to the alley, debating his next move.

“Do not go into the alley,” he ordered himself. 

The ghost was already dead, obviously. There was nothing he could do for her. But what if someone else was in trouble, and she had made herself known to him to summon help? What kind of asshole would he be to ignore that? 

“Goddamn it.” 

He leaned his bike against the building and followed the ghost into the alley. The streetlight cast just enough illumination for him to make out a dumpster perhaps ten yards in, a pile of flattened cardboard, and a pair of feet encased in high heels peeking out from behind the dumpster.

The streetlight crackled and went out, plunging the alley into darkness.

“Well, this just gets better and better.”

The obvious move now was to return to the street and place a call to 911. While he waited for help to arrive, he could use the phone as a flashlight and get a closer look at the owner of those feet. When he reached into his pocket, however, he discovered that he’d once again forgotten to bring the phone with him. He pictured it in his mind, sitting on the kitchen counter where he’d left it. “Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered.

He kept moving forward. He’d never forgive himself if he left someone in the alley to die when he could possibly do something to prevent that. Stretching his arms out in front of him, he placed one foot cautiously in front of the other until his hands made contact with the dumpster. Trying not to think of all the germs which were likely being transferred to him, and the rats that were undoubtedly congregating nearby, he felt his way along the side of the dumpster, the taste of burnt paper growing stronger with each shuffling, sideways step.

The sensations he associated with the proximity of a ghost – taste, smell, touch – had never been this strong before. Was that because they were so newly dead? He wished he knew the rules of how this all worked, but ever since he’d seen his first ghost at age eleven, he’d been forced to figures things out as he went. 

In the dark, he’d misjudged the distance to the shoes he’d spotted. His own foot caught on a firm leg and he pitched forward, landing with a jarring thud right on top of the body. He squelched as he landed, which told him something about the amount of blood present, which he’d rather not have known. He felt around and found a face which was cold and slack.

Panicking, he pushed against the bloody chest, and managed to lever himself into a seated position with his knees on either side of the body. The ground beneath him was damp and muddy, and he was still struggling to gain enough traction to stand when the far end of the alley lit up with blue and red flashing lights.

Seconds later, a shout ricocheted down the alley.

“Freeze!”

He froze.

Two pairs of feet pounded towards him, and two flashlight beams lit him up where he sat atop the corpse. He recognized her features now as the ghost that had lured him in here.

“This isn’t – ” he began, but was immediately cut off.

“Don’t move. Don’t so much as breathe. We got you, dirtbag.” 

Two strong pairs of hands dragged him roughly to his feet, his arms were yanked behind his back, and cuffs clicked in place around his wrists. Then he was unceremoniously frog marched to the police cruiser waiting at the mouth of the alley and stuffed into the backseat.

One of the police officers got on the radio, breathlessly announcing to the dispatcher, “We got him. We got the Soho Slasher.”

******

“Specter, Paulsen, get moving.”

The desk sergeant, Louis Litt, waved a slip of paper.

“What’s that?” Harvey asked, pulling on his jacket and eyeing Donna at the desk across from his as she did the same.

“It’s an address, genius. Looks like a couple of uniforms just solved your big case for you.” True to form, Louis sounded so annoyingly smug that Harvey was tempted to take a swing at him. Instead, he strode over and snatched the paper away from him.

“The Slasher?” asked Donna, grabbing Harvey’s arm to drag him out of punching range of Louis’ face and towards the door of the squad room.

“That’s right. While you two have been futzing around with your murder board and fancy profiles, the two of them – one a rookie, by the way -- practically fell right over him.”

“Good,” said Harvey. “As long as he’s off the street, I could care less who gets the credit for the collar.” This was mostly true, but it rankled to know that Louis had gained more ammunition for his needling.

“Don’t think this gets you out of an actual investigation,” came a voice from behind them. Captain Jessica Pearson had exited her office and walked up behind them, soundlessly as usual.

“Never crossed our minds,” Harvey reassured her. “We’re going to wrap this up all nice and tight, and tie it with a neat bow.”

“Hm,” she said, appearing skeptical. “See that you do.” 

******

Harvey double-parked near the alley, next to the police cruiser whose lights continued to flash, bathing the night in electric blue and lurid red. A slight form was silhouetted in the backseat. The suspect, he guessed. They’d get to him in a bit, but first they would check out the crime scene and collect the basic facts that were available so far.

The forensic team had already arrived, and were examining the body and moving carefully up and down the alley, collecting whatever evidence they could find.

Donna squatted down to confer with Benjamin, the medical examiner, while Harvey tracked down the responding officers, who were leaning against the brick wall of a building that made up one side of the alley.

“Talk to me,” he said, coming to a stop in front of them.

The older of the two men, a black guy with short, greying hair and a neatly trimmed mustache who Harvey recognized as Officer Ned Dubois, spoke up. “We were driving by the alley and spotted the perp on the top of the victim, covered in her blood.”

“Weapon?”

“Uh.” Dubois cut his gaze to his partner, a red-haired kid with a pugnacious tilt to his chin. “He didn’t have it on him.”

Red hair spoke up. “He must have tossed it before we showed up.”

“Have you searched the alley? The dumpster?”

“Looks like CSI has it covered.”

Harvey stepped closer to examine the kid’s badge. “Is that so, Officer Sorkin? Is that what it looks like to you? Did you determine, based upon your many days of experience, what would be the best use of their time?”

Sorkin pressed his lips together, clearly wanting to debate the point, but after a quick glance at Dubois, he shrugged. “I dunno. They seem pretty thorough.”

“They are. Now, how about you give them a hand, climb into that dumpster, get out your Encyclopedia Brown magnifying glass, and see if you can dig up any clues?”

Sorkin didn’t appear inclined to cooperate, but Harvey glared at him until he groaned, grabbed the side of the dumpster, and vaulted into it with an impressively athletic move.

Dubois directed an apologetic grimace at Harvey. “We’re, uh, working on his attitude.”

“Work harder,” growled Harvey, and walked back down the alley to where Donna was still huddled with Benjamin. 

He squatted down next to them, taking a moment to scrutinize the latest victim. Like the other three, she was an attractive twenty-something with dark hair, dressed in stylish business attire. Her white blouse had been torn away from a lacy white bra. Blouse, bra and dark grey skirt were all soaked with blood. Her throat was a mangled mess, indicating that as in the other murders, a serrated blade had likely been used.

“Time of death?” he asked.

As expected, Benjamin let out an annoyed huff. “Impossible to say for sure, this soon.”

“Just an estimate, then.”

Benjamin sighed. “Rigor hasn’t set in yet, but the body is cold, and the blood has congealed. If I had to guess – and please keep in mind, it’s only a guess at this point – I’d say she died less than an hour ago, but more than thirty minutes.”

“When did Dubois and Sorkin find her?”

“Just over twenty minutes ago.”

Harvey frowned, working out the timeline in his mind. Twenty minutes ago, the suspect had been found on top of the victim, who had already been dead for ten minutes possibly more. He’d already gotten rid of the murder weapon. Had he left and come back? If so, he had to have known that would increase his chances of being caught. Prior to this, he had shown more caution.

Harvey glanced at the police cruiser, and then spoke to Donna. “How do you want to handle the perp?” He already had ideas of his own, and suspected Donna shared them. They’d been partners for six years, and were more often in sync than not. 

“He and his clothes need to be processed,” she pointed out. “Let forensics finish up with him, and then we can get him in an interview room and crack him like a walnut.”

“I couldn’t have put it better. In the meantime, let’s get some more uniforms down here to canvas the neighborhood for witnesses.”

******

Mike had had a lot of bad days in his twenty-four years, but this had to count as one of the worst, he decided as he pulled on the worn sweats and NYPD t-shirt he was offered after his own clothes had been collected for processing. His body had been processed as well, from his hair, to underneath his fingernails, to his genitals and in between his toes. Photographs had been taken of him, both clothed and naked. He might have been mortified if he hadn’t been so terrified.

He was the number one suspect in a brutal murder, and he could hardly fault the police for that. He’d been found on top of the body, literally red-handed with the blood of the victim. In addition to being scared out of his mind, sickened by memories of the cold body, sticky blood and blank, cloudy eyes, he was irritated as hell. The victim’s ghost had attached herself to him and would not fucking shut up. She’d reappeared at the police station, asking endless questions and yammering on about how it couldn’t be true, that none of this was really happening.

After the better part of an hour she’d finally come to grips with the reality of her death, at least. Now she’d moved on to a different rant, demanding that he _do_ something about it.

“What do you want me to do?” he hissed at her when he’d finally been left alone in what he assumed was an interview room. There was no two-way mirror, as he would have expected, but he didn’t miss the camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling. “They think I did it. Did you. Er, killed … wow, this is awkward.”

She prowled (floated) around the room, and he had to continuously turn his head to keep her in view.

“It is what it is,” she sighed. 

“True. So, what’s your name? Was.”

“I think I’m allowed to keep my name, even if I’m dead. Right?”

Mike shrugged. “How would I know? I don’t know the rules.”

“But you can see me. I figured you were, like, part of this.”

“Part of what?”

“The … the bureaucratic apparatus of death?”

That stopped him for a few seconds. “Sorry, but I’ve never been part of any bureaucratic apparatus. And you never told me your name.”

“Rachel. Rachel Zane.”

“Nice to meet you. Well, not nice, exactly. I don’t know what it is. Disturbing, at a minimum. My name’s Mike, by the way.” 

“Hello, Mike. Okay, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, how about you stop brooding and tell the cops who actually killed me.”

“You knew him? I assume it was a him.”

“Oh, it was. And no, I didn’t know him, but I’d recognize him if I saw him again. He was a white guy, around six feet tall, mid-twenties …”

“You just described me.”

“He had dark hair. Nearly black. A crescent-shaped scar on his chin. And he smelled like cinnamon and nutmeg.”

Mike rested his forehead in his hands. “Sure. I’ll just tell them the nice ghost lady told me a perfectly average looking guy who smells like Christmas slit her throat. That ought to clear everything up.”

“Mike, do you find this negative attitude helps you out in life?”

“I do not, but I challenge anyone with my life to remain positive.”

She laughed, a dry, whispery sound. “I think I’ve got you beat there, pal.”

“Touché.” Mike thought for a minute. Maybe he could help her, and help himself at the same time. Right now, the police might assume he had killed Rachel, but if he could direct their attention to someone else, that would get him off the hook. The only problem was, how to do that without also convincing them that he was dangerously, certifiably insane?

******

Harvey and Donna watched the suspect on the video monitor.

“Who is he talking to?” asked Donna.

“Himself? The voices in his head? Did you actually expect someone capable of the brutal murders we’ve been investigating to be sane?”

She frowned thoughtfully. “It doesn’t exactly fit the profile. The person we were looking for was supposed to be high-functioning, intelligent, capable of charm and of blending into a crowd with little difficulty.”

“Sure, but now he’s been caught and his carefully constructed persona is crumbling around him.”

“Maybe.” Donna didn’t sound convinced. “Whatever the case, we need to approach this like any other interview. We’ll start by gaining his trust, and then get him to confess.”

“I’d rather go with good cop, bad cop,” Harvey grumbled. Playing the bad cop came naturally to him. He liked to think he possessed a special flair for it.

“We’ll keep that in reserve as plan B,” said Donna. “You ready?”

“Yup.”

He opened the door to the interview room for her, and followed her in.

The suspect – Mike Ross, they’d learned from the identification collected at the scene – shut his mouth abruptly and sucked his lips in, as if sealing off whatever he’d been about to say.

“Hello, Mr. Ross,” said Donna, sitting across from him. “I’m Detective Paulsen, and this is Detective Specter. If you like, you can call us Donna and Harvey. Would it be all right if we called you Mike?”

Mike darted his eyes suspiciously between the two of them. “That’s my name, so …” He licked his lips. “Can I just say, though, for the record, I didn’t kill anybody.”

Harvey let out a sharp laugh. “Really? That’s what you’re going with?” He ignored Donna’s warning look and paced slowly around the table until he was directly behind Mike, just a couple of inches separating them. One by one, he tossed photos from the crime scene onto the table in front of Mike. The first one showed a closeup of the victim’s slashed throat. The second was of Mike still wearing his clothes, which were covered in blood. The third was of just his hands, palms dark with dried blood. “How do you explain this, then?”

Mike swallowed audibly and closed his eyes, resting his forehead on his hands. Instead of answering Harvey, he whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “Shut up. That’s not helping.”

Harvey shared a long look with Donna.

“Mike,” she said, voice gentle, “are you on drugs right now?”

No reply.

“The only way we can help you is if you’re straight with us.”

He shook his head. “Trust me. That never works.”

“Well, how about this? Take us through your evening. Tell us how you ended up in that alley. We just want to understand what happened.”

They waited, and after a moment Mike lifted his head and opened his eyes. He spoke to Donna. “I’ll tell you, but only if he –” He gestured with his head at Harvey, who still stood behind him. “Only if he stops looming behind me and takes a seat.”

Harvey might have stayed where he was, since it was obviously getting under the suspect’s skin, but they’d just been promised a confession, so he strolled deliberately around the table and sat next to Donna. He held out his hands, palms up. “Okay. I’m sitting. Tell us your story.”

Mike sucked in a deep breath, cut his gaze to the side for half a second, and started to talk. “This is … you need to keep an open mind.” He gave a humorless laugh. “If that’s even possible. I mean, no offense intended, but I guarantee that what I’m about to tell you is not what you expect to hear.”

“How about you let us be the judge of that,” said Harvey, growing more impatient.

“Just giving you fair warning. Okay, fine. I was on my way to work at _Somerby’s_. I bartend there three nights a week. That’s just to supplement my other job, which is still sort of getting off the ground.”

“No one asked for your resume.” 

“True, but it’s sort of important. I’m a, ah …” 

Mike turned a deep, tomato red, giving incongruous rise in Harvey’s mind to all the possible reasons for putting that color there. What Mike said next was completely unexpected.

“I’m a medium.”

Several seconds of dead silence followed his pronouncement.

“A medium what?” asked Harvey.


	2. Chapter 2

“A medium what?” asked Harvey.

“Hold on a second,” Donna interrupted. “Are you saying you … what? Talk to dead people?” She shared an incredulous look with Harvey.

Mike slumped lower in his chair. “Sometimes I see ghosts. I don’t know why. It’s not like in that movie. It happens often enough. Way too much. But not like that. And it sucks when it happens, but about a year ago I got this idea that I could at least make something good come out of it, like paying my rent. People come to me to talk to their dead relatives and friends.” He decided to leave out the part about how he rarely contacted anyone, much less the dead person in question.

“So, basically,” drawled Harvey, “you’re a fraud, who cheats naïve people who are mourning their loved ones? Do I have that right?”

In the corner to which she’d retreated, Rachel made a noise of disgust. “What a closed-minded dick.”

If they’d been alone, Mike might have pointed out to her that a few hours ago, she wouldn’t have believed him either, but both Harvey and Donna were already staring at him with varying degrees of hostility and disbelief, so he ignored her.

As Harvey spoke it had belatedly occurred to Mike that Amelia Rayburn could provide him with an alibi. He didn’t know how long Rachel had been dead before he tripped over her, but she’d seemed rather cold already. In all likelihood, he’d been with Amelia when Rachel was killed.

“You don’t have to believe me, about the ghosts that is, but I was with a client in Brooklyn an hour before your guys arrested me. Her name is Amelia Rayburn. I don’t know when Rachel died, but – ”

Mike knew he’d made a huge blunder when he saw the knowing look that Harvey and Donna exchanged.

Harvey leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “How do you know her name? We didn’t know her name until five minutes before we walked in here, when we got word from the scene that her purse had been recovered two blocks away.”

Mike wanted to pound his forehead on the table in frustration. Instead, he met Harvey’s gaze with a level one of his own. “Because she told me,” he said. “And if you two would leave me alone and let me talk to her some more, I might even be able to get her to tell me who killed her.”

Someone on the other side of the door gave it two sharp knocks.

“Is that the ghost now?” asked Harvey with a smirk.

Mike didn’t bother to answer, and the two detectives stood up and left the room.

******

Harvey could tell by the expression on Captain Pearson’s face that they weren’t going to like whatever she was about to tell them.

“We have a problem,” she said. 

“What problem?” asked Harvey. “We caught the guy. He’s squirrelly as hell, but in spite of the profile, that doesn’t surprise me a whole lot.” Something occurred to him, and he frowned. “You think he’s trying to set up an insanity plea?”

“The problem,” she gritted out, “is that we haven’t found the murder weapon.”

“He tossed it.”

“Where? Add to that little puzzle the fact that the victim’s purse was found a full two blocks away.”

“He tossed that too.”

“You’re saying the guy cuts her throat, leaves the alley, walks two blocks away to ditch the purse, and maybe the weapon, and then goes back to the alley?”

“Maybe he grabbed her where her purse was found and dragged her back to the alley.”

“And nobody saw? Those are a busy two blocks at that time on a Friday night, and there were closer alleys.” 

“He knew the victim’s name.”

“He was a bartender at a place near the crime scene. She could have been a customer.”

“That seems like a bit too much of a coincidence.”

The captain let out a weary sigh. “I’m not saying rule him out completely, but these holes need to be closed. Have you asked him if he has an alibi?”

“Yes,” said Donna, cutting Harvey off before he could launch into another rant about Mike’s line of work. “He gave us a name of a client he says he was with at what we believe was the approximate window of time within which the murder occurred.”

“Okay. Check that out. And press Benjamin to pin down the time of death. If this is a dead end, we can’t afford to waste any more time on it.”

“And if he turns out to be the killer?”

“If that turns out to be the case, I want to be able to hold a news conference and assure the city with complete confidence that the Slasher has been apprehended.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Donna and Harvey said in unison.

They returned to the interview room.

Harvey asked, “Does this Amelia Rayburn have a phone number?”

He expected Mike to stall, since he hadn’t had a phone on him when he’d been apprehended, but he rattled off the digits without hesitation.

Harvey glanced at Donna and narrowed his eyes. “Sounds like you had that number right at the tip of your tongue, ready to go.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Mike muttered. “My brain remembers things like that.” He shut his eyes and recited the badge numbers of Harvey, Donna, and Officers Dubois and Sorkin. Opening his eyes, he looked up at Harvey. “I have a good memory. It’s not, er, nefarious, or whatever you’re implying.”

Probably sensing that Harvey was on the verge of losing his temper, Donna spoke before he could. “We’re going to leave you here for a few minutes while we go check out your alibi.”

Harvey smirked at him. “You got your wish. You can talk to Rachel to your heart’s content while we’re gone.”

******

“He’s kind of an asshole,” said Rachel after the two detectives had left the room again.

“Yeah. Can’t really blame him.” 

“Kind of hot, though.”

Mike felt himself blush. He hadn’t failed to notice that little detail.

“Oh, shit,” she laughed, “you’re totally into him.”

“No, I’m not.” He cleared his suddenly dry throat and focused his gaze on her where she’d come to rest across the table from him. “Can you tell me anything more about the guy who killed you?”

“I told you everything I know.”

“How did it happen? How did he get you into that alley?”

“I was working late.”

“What do you do for a living? Sorry, I mean …”

“Yeah, yeah. I know what you meant. You don’t have to tiptoe around the whole recently murdered thing. I get it. I’m dead.”

_ Awkward. _

“Right. So, what was your profession?”

“I was a paralegal at a top tier law firm.”

“Were you on your way home?”

“No. I decided to take a walk, to clear my head and grab some dinner.” She laughed bitterly. “Should have gotten takeout.”

Mike gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Anyway, I saw this guy walking toward me, and I actually thought, damn, he’s good-looking. We made eye contact, and I was already planning our first date, and naming our children. We reached a spot on the sidewalk at the same time where the streetlight was burnt out. That’s when he whipped out a knife and held it to my throat. I tried to give him my purse, but he tossed it away.” Frowning, she flickered in and out a couple of times. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Wait, wait,” he said, holding out one hand toward her. “You don’t have to talk about the actual – ” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “The actual m-u-r-d-e-r. Tell me anything you can remember about him. You said he smelled like cinnamon. Was he wearing any jewelry? Did he have any visible tattoos? What did his shoes look like?”

She flickered again before growing more solid once more. “I already told you, he smelled like cinnamon and nutmeg. Maybe a hint of cardamom. He was wearing jeans and a grey parka that looked like it had seen better days. I already mentioned the scar on his chin.” She fixed him with a glare that was remarkably clear and direct for a ghost. “Is any of this going to help catch him? It didn’t sound like those detectives had much interest in anything you had to say.”

Rachel disappeared completely, and then rematerialized a second later right beside him, making him jump. “They’re coming back. They’ll be here in about half a minute. I should probably go.” She grimaced as they both heard the door opening. “I’ll check in with you later, if I can.” With that, she dissolved and was gone.

******

Harvey glared at Mike suspiciously as he and Donna reentered the interview room. He thought he’d heard voices through the door, but they found Mike sitting quietly with his hands folded on the table in front of him, a look of studied innocence on his face.

God, he hated this part. He knew there was something up with the kid. He was too weird for it to be otherwise. There was no way they were going to hang the murder of Rachel Zane on him, though. The alibi Mike had given them was rock solid.

“Amelia Rayburn checked out,” he said, voice grudging. “She also asked us to pass along a message to you.” He consulted his notes. “She found Aunt Eunice’s shoebox containing the necklace. She sounded very … very …”

“Grateful,” Donna supplied with a tight smile.

He’d been about to say, “very greedy and vapid and screwed in the head,” but let it go. “Our medical examiner has determined that based on the estimated time of death, you could not have made it to the alley in time to murder the victim.”

Mike lifted his hands, which were cuffed to a bar in the middle of the table. “So, I’m free to go?”

“Yeah. For now. But you’d better keep your nose clean, because the first time you step out of line, so much as one millimeter, I’m going to be there to haul your ass to jail, even if it’s just for fraud.” He reached down to unlock the cuffs, and then watched as Mike rubbed the circulation back into his wrists.

Mike hesitated, not bolting out the door as Harvey had expected he would. “That’s it?”

“That’s it. Take off.”

“But…” Mike looked back and forth between Harvey and Donna. “Don’t you want to hear what I found out?”

Donna said, “You’re not a part of this investigation, so no.”

Harvey knew how common it was for the more twisted of the criminal class to try to insert themselves into a case. Occasionally, valuable information could be gleaned from this behavior. “Hold on, Donna. I’d like to hear this. What did your ghost tell you?”

Donna appeared disapproving, which she had every right to be. Encouraging someone in their lunacy was not an approved interrogation technique. It wasn’t exactly an interrogation anymore, though. If Captain Pearson was right, and Mike had met the victim before, maybe he did possess useful information. At this point, they couldn’t afford to ignore any lead, no matter how improbable.

“Thank you,” said Mike, giving Harvey a grateful look which he evidently did not realize was wholly misplaced. “She said the guy was about six feet, mid-twenties, dark hair, dark eyes, good looking, with a scar on his chin and …” He faltered for a second. “And she said he smelled like cinnamon and nutmeg. And a hint of cardamom.”

“Cardamom,” Harvey repeated flatly.

“That’s what she said. I don’t know. Maybe he’s a baker, or something?”

“How did he get her into the alley?” 

“He pulled a knife on her.”

“And what did he do with her purse?”

“He didn’t want it. She tried to give it to him, but he tossed it.”

Harvey kept his expression neutral with effort. “What did she say about the actual murder?” If Mike knew details about the killings that were not released to the press, they might have to reevaluate the wisdom of letting him go.

“She didn’t want to talk about that. She, uh, got real agitated when I asked her about it, and nearly disappeared entirely.”

“Right.” Harvey drew the word out. “I think it’s time for you to take off.” He didn’t think he could handle one more second of Mike’s bullshit.

“Sure. I’m out of here.” Mike stood and made a move toward the door, but paused again. “Do you know what happened to my bike?”

“It’s been tagged as evidence.”

Mike’s face fell. “But you said I’m not a suspect anymore.”

“It will probably be released in a couple of days. Give the precinct a call on Monday, and someone might be able to tell you when you can pick it up.”

If anything, Mike looked even more glum at this news.

“Problem?” asked Harvey.

Mike shook his head. “Nope. Everything is just peachy.” He opened the door and left.

******

Everything was not peachy. With the loss of his bike, even if only temporarily, Mike’s life had just gotten a great deal more complicated. He was still short on his rent, one day closer to the due date, and zero dollars closer to being able to pay his landlord. He’d lost an entire shift at the bar and knew that Trevor would be livid. He’d call him and explain, but that would have to wait until he got home, because that’s where his phone was. He could go straight to the bar, which was a great deal closer than Mike’s Brooklyn apartment, but he needed to shower and get the stink of death and cops off of him.

When Mike walked out of the station, it was still dark, but his watch told him that dawn was less than an hour away. He’d spent the entire night caught up in the murder investigation, and although he was grateful that he’d been cleared of any charges, unease followed him as he walked down the empty sidewalk.

That one cop, Detective Specter – Harvey – had more or less threatened him, telling him he’d be watching him, and waiting for him to make a wrong move. That shouldn’t take long. Every other move Mike made seemed to be the wrong one. Walking into that alley had been the pinnacle of a lifetime of wrong moves. He needed to learn how to ignore pretty young ghosts.

As if his thoughts had conjured her, Rachel materialized next to him. “Well?” she asked, sounding impatient.

“Well what?”

“Have they caught the guy? Did you tell them everything I told you?”

“I told them.”

“And?”

“And I’m lucky they didn’t lock me up on a 72-hour involuntary hold.”

“Bah. I’m not looking for excuses. I’m looking for results.”

“What you should be looking for is the door that will take you through the veil and out of my life.”

“They said I can’t leave this plane until my story is resolved, and that means having my murderer caught.”

Mike halted abruptly. Rachel floated past him for a few feet, and then noticed he wasn’t still next to her. She turned around and floated back to face him.

“Who said that?” asked Mike. “What kind of idiots are you getting your information from?”

Rachel flickered. “It takes a lot of energy to talk to you like this. I don’t know what put you in my path.”

“I think it’s more like what put you in my path.”

She ignored his interruption. “Whatever it was, you’re the one who needs to solve my murder.”

“The cops might have something to say about that.”

“You know more than they do.”

“I said I told them everything – “

“But they don’t believe you. What does it matter if you told them, if they’re not going to do anything about it?”

“Excellent question. The answer is, it doesn’t matter. I’ve done all I can, and I can’t help you anymore. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get home, shower, and then go plead for my job.

Rachel let out another annoyed huff. “If you want them to believe you, solve the murder.”

She did have a point. Maybe if he could follow through on the slim leads she’d given him and find proof that he’d been telling the truth, he could return triumphantly to the two detectives (mainly the asshole Specter), and then they’d have to acknowledge his abilities. He wasn’t sure why it mattered so much, but it did. 

So far, exactly one (non-client) person in his life had believed in his abilities, and that was Trevor. Of course, Trevor being who he was, had immediately tried to turn Mike’s ability to his advantage. Trevor had come up with the idea for the medium-for-hire thing. Mike had resisted at first, but soon saw the benefits of the extra income, although he managed to keep Trevor out of it.

He started walking again, and Rachel fell into step (float) beside him. “You do realize,” he said, “that the cops will have more to go on that than I do? DNA, possibly fingerprints. Fibers. Hairs. Hey, I don’t suppose you scratched the guy?”

“No … You certainly seem to know an awful lot about this.”

“Television,” he replied absently, still thinking. “They’ll probably look for surveillance cameras in the area. Interview witnesses. Stacked up next to all that, what do I have?”

“You have me.”

“Look, no offense …”

“I can identify the guy. I know what he looks like.”

“But we have to find him first. How do you propose we do that?”

“I gave you another clue.”

“Right. The smells. Cinnamon and nutmeg.”

“And cardamom.” 

“And cardamom.” He groaned. “Do you know how many bakeries there are in this city?”

“A lot. But we can narrow it down for you.”

Mike was almost afraid to ask. “We?”

“He killed three other women. They’ve been hanging around, just like me.”

Mike glanced around warily. “Are they here right now?”

“No, but they told me where they were killed.” She listed three addresses, all of which were within walking distance of the alley where Mike had found Rachel. “We can start with the bakeries in that neighborhood. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“No. Absolutely not. I’ve watched enough crime shows to know that that is one huge criminal tell, trying to insert yourself into the investigation. You’re just going to have to let the cops do their jobs. I’ll bet they’re good at what they do.”

He expected her to argue, to plead her case. Instead she gave him a silent, disappointed headshake, and blinked out. He nearly gagged on the taste of burnt paper.

******

“Can you believe that bullshit?” asked Harvey an hour later as he and Donna sat at their desks, drinking coffee and suffering through the stale doughnuts that were left from three days ago. He raised the pitch of his voice in an attempt to imitate that kid from that movie. “I see dead people.”

Donna laughed and continued the internet search she was working on.

Captain Pearson, who had been walking by, overheard Harvey’s comments. “Don’t mock what you don’t understand,” she admonished.

“Please don’t tell me you actually believe in all that ghost crap?”

“All I know is that when my great aunt died when I was ten, at least three of my relatives claimed to see her shade out in her garden for a week after she passed.”

“Her shade?” He started to laugh, but stopped when he caught sight of the expression on her face. “Wait. Don’t tell me you saw her too?”

She sniffed. “I might have.”

“So … what? You’re saying we should take this kid seriously?”

“I’m saying, after you’ve exhausted all other leads, maybe think about interviewing local bakers.”

Harvey waited until she’d disappeared into her office to roll his eyes at Donna.

******

When Mike got home, the older gentleman ghost was waiting for him, hovering in front of Mike’s bookcase and perusing the titles. He glanced up at Mike, disappeared, and rematerialized directly in front of him.

“Gah,” said Mike, embarrassed at his obvious flinch. “That’s … that’s kind of rude.”

“You got yourself into a bit of a pickle, didn’t you?”

Mike toed off his sneakers. “Who are you?” he asked.

“You may call me …” He appeared to consider the possibilities for a few moments. “Marley.”

“Oh. Ha ha. Hilarious. It’s not even Christmastime.” When the ghost – Marley – only shrugged, Mike let it go. “So, you’ve been spying on me?”

Another ghostly shrug. “You seem an interesting enough sort. Genius level intellect. Under-achiever. Questionable moral compass.”

“Hey.”

“And an ass off of which one could bounce an entire roll of quarters.”

Mike groaned. “How long have you been here? In my apartment.”

“A few months.” At Mike’s disbelieving glare, he hastily added, “Not the entire time. I have other places to visit, friends on both sides of the veil, plenty of irons in the fire.” His grin edged toward a leer. “You’ve provided some wonderful entertainment, for which I’d like to offer a belated and heartfelt thank you.”

“Entertainment?” asked Mike, not sure it he wanted to know the details.

“You have a highly pleasing physical form. I honestly don’t know why you don’t get more action than you do.”

“Action?” His voice broke on the word.

Marley shook his head, smiling as if revisiting a fond memory. “Back in my day, we were loving the ones we were with, left and right. For all your … _modernity_ – ” He pronounced the word scornfully. “You’re remarkably prudish. Still, the few encounters of yours I observed were highly stimulating.”

Mike wasn’t sure he agreed with the prudish designation, but the last thing he wished to do was discuss his sex life with Peeping Marley, which … _gross_. He hastily changed the subject, asking, “When did you die?”

Marley wrinkled his nose in distaste. “The twenty-second of December, 1972. Hit by a taxi on my way to court.”

A lawyer, Mike concluded. “Wouldn’t that make you a little old for the flower power generation?”

“I had plenty of money, and you’d be surprised how many of those little hippie boys were only looking for a daddy. They cared more about all the drugs with which I could supply them than my three-piece suits.”

“Wow. You sound like a real great guy. Wish I could talk more, but I’ve got things to do, the first of which is to take a shower. Full offense, but I’d rather you not stick around for that. Your private peepshow is officially closed for business.”

“You’ll never even know I’m here. And you can’t stop me from looking.”

“No? How about I exorcise your wrinkly old ass?” Mike was bluffing. He didn’t have the first clue how to get rid of an unwanted ghost.

“Ha. You wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“We have a thing now called the internet. I think I might be able to figure it out.”

Marley flickered briefly. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

Marely was quiet for half a minute. “Maybe,” he said, with a calculating gleam in his ghostly eyes, “we could work out a deal.”

“What kind of deal?”

“I get to stick around and observe the wildlife – that’s you by the way.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“In return, I’ll help you out with your sad little séances. As I’ve already demonstrated, I have mastered the ability to move from one side of the veil to the other at will. I can locate all of your Aunt Eunices and deliver whatever messages you wish. Your success rate will skyrocket, and maybe you can edge that Yelp rating up from a 2.1 to something more appealing.”

“Wait. You know about Yelp?”

“Of course. I’m the original ghost in the machine.”

Mike narrowed his eyes at him, beginning to wonder just who in the hell this “Marley” guy really was. On the heels of that thought, he decided that it didn’t much matter. He was correct about Mike’s lousy Yelp rating. Information was power, and if Marley could answer all of his client’s questions accurately, perhaps Mike could make a decent living out of the medium gig.

“If I agree, you’d have to promise never to make your presence known if … when … you know. I don’t want to ever speak of this with you again. Agreed?”

“You got it. As I said, you’ll never even know I’m here.”

“And when I call you, you’ll come?”

“Oh, I’m quite sure I’ll be coming.” At the appalled expression on Mike’s face, Marley held up his hands. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist the setup.”

Grimacing, Mike asked, “Can you even do that? As a ghost, I mean.”

“Sure, and cleanup is a breeze.” He straightened his ghost tie. “So, it sounds as if we have ourselves a deal. Right now, I have other things to attend to. I’ll make myself scarce. You do whatever comes naturally, and give me a jingle – so to speak – when you need a hand.” With that, he vanished.

“Holy shit,” Mike muttered.

He was pleased with the deal he’d struck, sort of, but as he undressed and stepped into the shower, he imagined an avid, ghostly gaze fixed on him. It was the quickest shower of his life.

******

Harvey and Donna spent the rest of the day poring over the forensics – what was available so far – collected from the Zane murder scene. They still hadn’t located the weapon that had killed her, but that had been the case for the three other murders attributed to what the idiots in the media had dubbed the Soho Slasher. Either the unsub was disposing of the weapon carefully, or was holding onto it for some reason.

They’d endured another round of mocking from Louis (“The uniforms solve the case, and you turn around and unsolve it. Stellar detective work there.”), another demand for results from Captain Pearson (“I need to show the top brass that we’re making headway.”), and Harvey was beginning to seriously consider running away and joining the circus.

Just before five, Benjamin emailed them an update. The lab had finished the preliminary testing on particles and fibers. They’d found a few short, dark hairs which hadn’t belonged to the victim. If they ever caught the guy, these could prove crucial in building their case against him, contributed nothing towards telling them who he might be. As he scanned the rest of the information on his computer screen, Harvey froze, frowning.

Donna must have spotted it seconds later because she let out a soft gasp. When he glanced over at her, he saw that her eyebrows were lifted, and her eyes had gone wide.

“What the fuck,” she murmured.

“It doesn’t mean a goddamn thing,” he growled at her. “If it means anything, it’s that we were too hasty in letting that dirtbag go.”

“What if he was telling the truth?”

“And what if pigs can sprout wings and fly laps around the Empire State Building?”

Apparently, she didn’t have a response to that, continuing to shake her head as she stared at the line on the screen stating that trace amounts of flour, cinnamon, nutmeg and cardamom had been discovered on the victim’s clothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Festivus! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

“Come on, Trevor,” Mike pleaded into the phone. “Do you actually believe I got myself detained by the cops on purpose? I would have much rather been behind the bar, serving drinks all night. No contest.”

“No phone call from you,” snapped Travis. “No nothing. What was I supposed to think? You’re suspended for a week. That’s it. End of story.”

Mike groaned. “How the fuck am I supposed to pay my rent? Have a heart, dude.”

Trevor exhaled harshly. “I’m trying to run a business here. Heart has nothing to do with it. Besides, I already promised Tommy your shifts.”

“Tommy?” Mike protested, his voice cracking. “He can’t even handle a slow afternoon shift. How is he going to keep up with a room filled with drunk Wall Street asshats trying to blow off steam after a long week in the trenches? I guarantee he’ll be sobbing for his Mommy before the night is over.”

“He’ll be fine. And you, hopefully, will learn your goddamn lesson about punctuality and accountability.”

Before Mike could reply, the line went dead.

Sort of like his chances for avoiding eviction.

*******

Daylight was fading. Mike considered the computer screen displaying his revised Craigslist ad, which he’d been tinkering with for most of the afternoon. He’d added several enticements, but feared they came off as too desperate. _“Group readings! Parties! 10% off on every tenth consultation! (Advance payment required.)”_

He sighed, wondering if he should add some flashy graphics, or maybe a photo of himself looking intense and enigmatic. Probably a no on that last thing, since he seriously doubted whether he could pull it off. Wincing, he clicked on the “Post” button, and sat back, chewing his lower lip.

“That oughta reel in the suckers,” said a disembodied voice at his shoulder.

Mike jumped, clutching his chest. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Please don’t do that.”

Marley chuckled and materialized in front of him, sitting on one corner of Mike’s desk and drumming his heels soundlessly against the cheap particleboard. “You’re too easy. But not in any of the good ways.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Glowering at the ghost, Mike muttered darkly, “Get used to it. I may never have sex again, thanks to you.”

“What a waste.” After a moment, a sly leer stretched across Marley’s face. “Hey, here’s a fun idea: allow me to borrow you for a few hours.”

“Borrow?”

“Sure. As in, possess your meat suit? The things I could do with that body …”

“That’s a thing? You can just slide in and …? Ew.” Mike shuddered.

“It would require your consent. Unfortunately. But, yes, it is in fact a thing. You know, Mike, I’m starting to think that for someone with your gift, you’re outrageously ill-informed as to the basics.”

“Ugh. I don’t have time for this right now. I’m going to lose my apartment if I can’t figure out a way to come up with some cash.” He narrowed his eyes speculatively. “Say, I don’t suppose you could direct me to any hidden shoeboxes stashed nearby.”

“Don’t insult me.”

“I’m not – never mind.” Mike tapped his fingers on the desktop, trying to ignore Marley so he could think. Something occurred to him. “Would you stick around here if I was gone?”

“Gone?”

“Evicted. Kicked out onto the street.”

Before the ghost could answer, Rachel appeared next to Mike. “We found him,” she exclaimed breathlessly. “We found our killer.”

Mike realized he was clutching his chest again. “What is it with you guys? You can’t just pop in and out like that. It’s extremely unnerving.”

Rachel noticed Marley and dimmed briefly. “Who the hell is that?”

“Marley,” drawled ghost number one. He extended a transparent hand toward Rachel. “Enchanté.”

Rachel ignored his hand. “Seriously, Mike. Who is this clown? Why are you hanging out with him, and not working on my case?”

Mike’s teeth ground together. He had zero time for these ghostly distractions. Still, he couldn’t help being curious. “Who found the guy? Who is ‘we’? And where did you find him?”

“I told you,” she replied, voice grating with frustration, “I made contact with the other victims. We did your detective work for you.”

“I’m not a detect –”

“And we found him.”

“Great. Go haunt him and leave me alone.”

“I’m not going to haunt him like some dumb ghost cliché.”

Mike gave Marley a pointed look.

Rachel noticed, and turned to stare at Marley with dawning understanding. “Wait. Is that what this is? You’re haunting Mike? That’s so rude.”

“Right?” said Mike.

Marley disappeared and reappeared directly in front of Rachel, hands on hips. “Don’t get all self-righteous with me, newbie. First of all, I was here long before you. And secondly, what do you call what you’re doing?”

“Trying to get a murderer off the street.”

“By haunting Mike,” Marley growled. “Hypocrite.”

The air in Mike’s apartment seemed to crackle and spark as the two ghosts faced off.

“I’m not haunting him,” Rachel protested between gritted teeth.

“Um, you kind of are,” said Mike. “And really, I should – ”

Without warning, Marley’s ghostly form expanded and grew nearly opaque. His voice boomed, louder and deeper than it had been a moment a go. “I saw him first. _Go._ ” He pointed a finger at Rachel.

She shot him a look of pure venom before she vanished. Mike grimaced at the taste of charcoal on his tongue.

“That was harsh,” he said. “She’s only trying to get a little closure so she can move on.”

Sighing, Marley hopped back up on the corner of Mike’s desk. “I know,” he said, sounding only slightly remorseful. “The newly dead can be so full of themselves. What can I say? I get impatient sometimes.”

“What was with the …” Mike held his arms out, and scowled, miming the display Marley had just put on.

The ghost shrugged, somehow managing to appear modest. “You pick up a few tricks when you’ve been hanging around as long as I have.”

“Well, thanks. I think. But I doubt you’ve scared her off for good. And I can’t really fault her persistence. I mean, some guy cut her throat, and she wants him to pay for that.” He chewed his lip. “Shit. Maybe I should have tried to be more helpful. I didn’t even ask for the guy’s name, or where she found him. I can’t exactly go to the cops now, but I suppose an anonymous tip might have done the trick. Anyway, I have other things to worry about.” Sighing, he looked back at his computer screen, willing a response to his ad to appear. He could sense Marley watching him.

“You’re really concerned about this eviction nonsense, aren’t you?” the ghost finally asked.

Mike gave him a sour look but said nothing.

“Maybe I can help you with that.”

“Oh, you found that shoebox after all?”

“Ha ha. Not like that. Just give me some time. A day or two, tops.”

“Time to do what?”

Marley gave him an enigmatic smile and disappeared.

******

With Marley gone, Mike half-expected Rachel to return. She didn’t, but he couldn’t get her and her murdered girl posse out of his mind. As annoying as his gift – which was more like a curse – was, he’d never been able to successfully ignore it or shut it off. Helping the ghosts who came to him sometimes felt like a compulsion. That’s certainly what it felt like right now.

Feeling restless, he consulted Google, and came up with a list of half a dozen bakeries relatively close to the area of the murders. As he made note of the addresses, he thought about going to check them out tomorrow. He could nose around for anyone meeting Rachel’s description of the murderer, and then … what? Even if he contacted the detectives anonymously, he’d need tangible proof for them to take any action. The word of a ghost who nobody else could see wasn’t going to cut it.

He refreshed Craigslist again, but still no replies. Not that he had expected any. Tamping down his worry, he went into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and stared blankly at the sparse contents. These consisted of a shriveled lime wedge with mold growing on its surface, three bottles of beer, an egg which was so old it frightened him, and a nearly empty jar of strawberry jam.

_I need to work on my adulting,_ he decided morosely.

He had exactly twenty-seven dollars in his wallet. With future income delayed and his living arrangements in doubt, he’d have to make that last. Uninspired, he gazed blankly the far wall and ran through dinner options in his mind. He’d just about settled on a run to the bodega two blocks over to see if they were having a sale on ramen (they usually were), when someone knocked on his door.

******

Before they called it quits for the night, Harvey and Donna compiled a list of bakeries which were relatively close to all four crime scenes, and then agreed that they would start visiting them early the following morning, to see if they could shake anything loose.

“I still say that kid is involved in all of this,” Harvey repeated for the third time.

“You need to stop obsessing about Mike Ross,” Donna warned him. “He has an alibi, and you have a couple of strikes against you already in the harassment department.”

That was true enough, although the suspects he’d allegedly been harassing had proven to be guilty as hell in the end. “If he’s not the killer,” said Harvey, “he knows something. He could be complicit somehow, or, I don’t know, some kind of serial killer groupie.”

She rolled her eyes. “If you think about that rationally for about two seconds, you’ll realize that it makes zero sense.”

“Then what? How could have known what he did?”

“Maybe he is exactly what he says he is.”

“A medium?” Harvey let out a snort of disbelief. “Medium loony, maybe.”

“Psychics have aided in investigations in the past. They’ve even proven helpful on occasion.”

“If you say so,” he muttered, unconvinced.

She gave him a pat on the shoulder which only felt a little patronizing. “So, I’ll see you at six tomorrow morning? Frank’s Bakery?”

“Yeah. See you there.”

“Get some sleep.”

Donna slung her purse over her shoulder and left.

Harvey considered heading home, or maybe making a stop at his favorite cop bar. Instead, he retrieved his Mustang from the parking garage and headed to Brooklyn.

******

Mike peered through the peephole in his door to find the asshole cop, Detective Specter, on his doorstep, wearing a ferocious scowl. “Well, the hits just keep on coming,” he grumbled under his breath. He considered not opening the door, but when a second, louder knock rattled the doorframe, he sighed, unlocked the deadbolt, and cracked the door open. “Have rubber hose, will travel?” he asked.

The attempted joke fell flat, if Harvey’s exaggerated eyeroll was anything to go by. “Just let me in. We need to talk.”

“You’re not going to arrest me?”

“I hadn’t planned on it, but the night is young.”

Mike could have refused him entrance. He hadn’t mentioned anything about a warrant, after all, but from what he’d observed of Harvey so far, he didn’t seem the type to give up easily. He opened the door and stepped back to let him in.

Harvey took a moment to scrutinize Mike’s apartment, zeroing in on the corner set up for his client consultations. He’d covered a square folding table with an embroidered tablecloth he’d found at a thrift store, added four almost-matching wooden chairs, a small, battery-operated water fountain, some flameless candles that had cost a ridiculous amount of money, and a docking station for his phone so that he could stream soothing “spa” music to set the tone. With the apartment lights on, it looked rather cheap and pathetic, but when the rest of the room was darkened and everything was switched on, his clients seemed to respond favorably to his efforts to create ambience.

“Is this where the magic happens?” asked Harvey, not bothering to hide his disdain.

“If you’ve come all the way here just to mock, believe me, I’ve heard it all before.”

“That’s not why I’m here. Well, not the only reason.”

“Ah. A multi-tasker.”

Harvey shrugged and turned away from the corner, focusing his attention on Mike now. “We got the preliminary forensic reports back on Rachel Zane. Any guesses what they found?”

“How would I know?”

“What? You aren’t getting breaking news from the spirit world?”

“Look, I’ve had a long day …”

“You and me both.”

Now that Mike was paying attention, the detective did appear exhausted. He reminded himself that like Mike, Harvey had been up all of the previous night. “You want a beer?” he asked abruptly and headed for the kitchen before Harvey could reply. He retrieved two bottles, handing one to Harvey, who only paused for a second before accepting it and twisting off the cap. Mike returned to the living room to sit on the couch. Moments later, Harvey did the same.

“So, Detective, tell me. What did the tests find?”

Harvey lifted the bottle to his lips and swallowed, never taking his eyes off Mike. “They found trace amounts of flour, cinnamon, nutmeg and cardamom.”

The brief surge of hope Mike felt – hope that finally someone would believe in him – died almost immediately at the hard expression on Harvey’s face. _Was_ Harvey here to interrogate and eventually arrest him? “And?” he asked carefully.

Harvey must have seen the caution and rising anxiety on his face. He held out his hands in a placating motion. “I’m not accusing you of anything.” _Yet,_ seemed to be the unspoken qualifier. “However, it’s clear you know something. So, why don’t you save everyone a lot of time and help me get this monster locked up and off the street.”

“Ask me whatever you want.”

“Had you met the victim while she was alive? Maybe she came into the bar where you work?”

Mike shook his head. He didn’t have to be psychic to know where this was headed.

“Okay, then you must have some idea who the killer is. A friend or acquaintance of yours, perhaps?”

“No.”

“I get why you wouldn’t want to say anything. Believe me, I understand the concept loyalty, and fully approve of it in most cases. This isn’t most cases. What this guy has done doesn’t deserve your loyalty.”

“I swear to you, I don’t know anything about it.” _Just what the ghost told me._ He didn’t say that part out loud, but Harvey’s disgusted scowl told him this is what he was thinking. “I’m sorry. I wish I could help you, but I can’t.”

“You know, Mike, based on the lab reports, coupled with your interview, I could have you locked up right now as a material witness. If you don’t start cooperating, and pretty goddamned fast, that is precisely what is going to happen.”

_The taste of burnt paper, and a whiff of ozone._

Marley appeared on the couch in the space between Mike and Harvey. It took every bit of Mike’s self-control not to gasp and jump a foot in the air.

“Well, hello gorgeous,” said Marley, gazing at Harvey appreciatively. “Who is this fine specimen?”

“Not now,” Mike hissed as quietly as he could.

Still, Harvey heard him. He smiled nastily and drawled, “Another ghostly visitation?”

Figuring he had little to lose, Mike made the introductions. “Marley, this is Harvey Specter. Detective, you’re sitting next to Marley, although I suspect that’s not his real name.”

Harvey shook his head, not bothering to reply. By contrast, it appeared that nothing in heaven or on earth could shut Marley up.

“Detective?” he asked with a suggestive lilt to his voice. “How exciting. Is he going to whip out the cuffs and dominate you?”

Mike flushed a deep, tomato red. “What are you doing here?” he ground out through clenched teeth. “Can’t you see this is serious?”

Marley disappeared. Mike had only a couple of seconds to feel relief, when the ghost reappeared directly behind Harvey. “Tell him Gordon says hello.”

“What?” Mike tried not to notice the bemused look Harvey was giving him. “Who is Gordon?” He sensed more than felt Harvey stiffen and go completely still. “Well?”

“Just tell him,” Marley urged.

Mike sighed. “Fine. Harvey, Marley is telling me that Gordon, whoever that is, says hello.”

Harvey lunged across the space that separated them, pinning Mike down with his body and jamming his forearm against his throat, effectively cutting off his air. “You fucking grifter,” he snarled into Mike’s face, “don’t you ever mention that name again.”

“What?” squeaked Mike. His gaze sought Marely, appealing to him for assistance.

“His father,” said the ghost. “Evidently he’s a little touchy on the subject. Hm. Give me one second.” He disappeared again.

“I’m sorry,” croaked Mike, struggling for air. Harvey continued to hold him down, and suddenly Mike was even sorrier as his dick began to harden at the feel of the lithely muscled body pressed so intimately against him.

Harvey must have felt it too, because he let go and jumped to his feet as if he’d been burned. However, he hadn’t been quick enough to prevent Mike from feeling his answering bulge. They stared at one another. As the thick silence stretched between them, Mike grew increasingly fearful that Harvey might hit him. He stood up and edged out of striking distance. His heart slammed against his ribs and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

And then Marley was back. He seemed to take in the situation in a glance. “Oh, shit. Quickly, Mike. Don’t ask questions and repeat after me. ‘A jazz moo-sician.’ Say it just like that.”

Mike sucked in a wheezing breath. “A-a jazz musician?”

“You Googled that,” Harvey said. “How stupid do you think I am? My dad was a musician. So what?”

“Moo-sician,” Marley insisted.

Feeling like an idiot, Mike repeated, “Moo-sician. A jazz moo-sician.”

“What did you say?” Harvey advanced on Mike, backing him up against the wall, his expression moving from anger, to confusion, to thunderstruck disbelief. “What the fuck did you just say? How could you know that?” He gave Mike’s chest a rough push that had him slamming into the wall, and then stepped back. “My God. That … it was between the two of us. Nobody else. Nobody.”

“I don’t know what it means,” said Mike, rubbing his chest. “That’s what Marley – the ghost – told me to say. I’m sorry.”

Almost stumbling, Harvey made it back to the couch and sat heavily. He stared at the floor, brows furrowed. “It was a dumb joke between my father and me when I was a kid.” His shaking voice climbed in pitch, mimicking himself as a small child. “Hey, Dad, what do you call a cow who plays the saxophone? A jazz moo-sician. It was a terrible joke, but he laughed every single time.”

Harvey bit his lip, frowning and visibly fighting back tears. Mike felt awful. “You couldn’t have picked some other method of proof?” he hissed at Marley, who materialized next to Mike.

“Time constraints. Oh well. Maybe you should kiss him and make it better.”

“You are the absolute worst.”

“And you owe me for the intel.”

Mike growled low in his throat, took several breaths to calm down, and went to perch on the couch near Harvey, keeping several inches between them. “I really am sorry. I never would have repeated what Marley told me if I’d known the effect it would have on you.”

Being the big, tough cop he was, Harvey had already managed to pull himself together. “Oh, I’m sure you knew exactly what you were doing.” He drew in one more slightly shuddery breath, let it out, rose to his feet, and then appeared to hold a brief, internal debate before asking, “Is there anything you can tell me about the killer, anything at all that might help?”

“I already told you everything I know.” Mike paused, remembering Rachel’s visit earlier. “Um. Well, there is one other thing.”

Harvey gestured at him to spill it. “I’m waiting.”

“Rachel was here earlier.”

“Oh, she just popped in for a visit, did she?”

“Yes, actually. Do you want to hear this or not?”

“Fine. Yes. I’d like to hear it.” Harvey’s reluctance was obvious.

“She said that she and the other three victims – ”

“Wait. You’re telling me all four of them are … what? Joining forces?”

“Are you going to let me finish?” Mike waited until he was sure Harvey wasn’t going to interrupt him again. “Okay, so, Rachel says they found the guy.”

Mike could sense that another explosion was imminent, so he stood up and moved to stand on the other side of the coffee table.

“They found the guy?” asked Harvey incredulously. “And you don’t think that was something you could have mentioned earlier?”

“You wouldn’t have believed me.”

“I’m still not sure I believe you now, but if you’ve got a name, I’d certainly like to check him out.”

“Well, see, that’s the thing. I didn’t get a name.”

“Home address? Place of employment?”

“Rachel left too quickly for me to ask.”

Shaking his head in apparent disgust, Harvey got up and stalked to the door. Before he left, he turned, hands on hips, still shaking his head. “Mike, I don’t know if you’re for real or not. The jury is still out on the. But I have to say that if you are, you’ve got to be about the most useless psychic on the planet.”

He left, slamming the door on his way out.

Mike frowned at the door. “I’m not psychic,” he whispered, “I’m a medium.”

Marley materialized in front of him, fanning himself with one hand. “That,” he declared, “was a hell of a lot of sexual tension. Holy moly.”

“Isn’t there somewhere else you need to be?”

“I’m not going anywhere until I watch you take care of that.” He pointed at the slight bulge still visible in Mike’s pants.

“Did I mention you were the worst?”

“I already know you’re a screamer. Didn’t realize you were such a prude. You know, darling, some people appreciate an audience. They say it heightens the pleasure. No? Well, we’ll work on that. You’re right, though. I have things to do. I’m leaving.” He grinned. “Or am I? You’ll never know.”

Marley vanished. Mike dug his fingers into his hair and wondered if it was possible to kill a person who was already dead.


	4. Chapter 4

At 5:30 the next morning, Mike stood inside _Frank’s Bakery,_ inhaling the yeasty, sugary scents and realizing that he hadn’t had anything to eat for the last twenty-four hours. He examined the pastry case, looking for any obvious signs of cinnamon, nutmeg or cardamom. He spotted the cinnamon rolls right away, huge and drenched in icing.

The young woman behind the counter waited patiently for Mike’s order.

“I guess I’ll take a cheese Danish and a regular coffee.”

“You got it.”

“And, uh, do you make anything with cardamom in it?” The question felt stupid coming out of his mouth, and even more stupid when Mike saw the look of polite confusion on the woman’s face.

“Cardamom?”

Mike laughed weakly. “I have a craving for it. Gots to get me some cardamom.”

“O-kayyy …”

“Seriously, though. Do you have anything like that?”

“Um, no. I don’t think so, anyway. I’ve only been here for like, a week.”

“Is there a baker around that I could talk to?”

She gave him a disbelieving stare. “You want to talk to Frank?”

“That would be great.” He hadn’t seen Rachel since Marley scared her off last night. If she didn’t show up to confirm or reject Frank as the killer, at least Mike could determine whether or not he fit the description she’d given him.

“He can be cranky in the morning.”

Which meant what? He might come at Mike with a knife? “I’ll take my chances.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Keeping one eye on Mike, the woman turned her head to bellow into the back of the store, “Hey, Frank! Customer to see you.”

A medium tall black man with wide shoulders and an irritated scowl on his face strode through a set of double doors and up to the counter. Spotting Mike, he glared at him, hands on hips. “Look, pal, if you’re here to complain about the croissants from yesterday, don’t bother. It was a bad batch of yeast, and we’ll gladly refund you, or give you a free one today.”

“No,” said Mike. “That’s not what I wanted –”

“He’s looking for cardamom,” interrupted the young woman.

This elicited a pained look from Frank. “That’s _Gilbert’s Bakery_. I assume you’re talking about their cardamom coffee cake?’

“Uh, yes. Yes, the coffee cake. Someone said you might make that here.”

“Well, ‘someone,’ is misinformed. I mean, I could reverse engineer the recipe, no problem, but that would be unethical. I’m told my cinnamon rolls are every bit as good.”

“I’m sure they are.”

“Are you one of them secret shoppers?”

“Nope, I’m just a hungry guy with a sweet tooth.”

“Well, if you’re not planning to buy anything, why are you wasting my time?”

The clerk held up a paper bag and pointed to the coffee cup on the counter. “He’s getting these.”

That seemed to mollify Frank somewhat. “Okay, then. I’ve got more baking to do.” He started to head toward the double doors, and then turned back to Mike. “You really should give that cardamom coffee cake a try. It’s fucking fantastic. If you do, say hello to Gil for me. Gil Senior, that is. Gil Junior is a total prick.” He shook his head, is if considering what a prick Gil Junior was, and returned to his baking.

Mike raised an eyebrow at the clerk. “Cranky? He seemed perfectly delightful to me.”

******

By quarter to seven, Donna was munching on her third maple bar. “At this rate,” she said through a mouthful of fried dough, “I’m going to gain ten pounds before we find this guy.”

“You’re not contractually obligated to buy something at every place we go,” he observed.

“I honestly don’t know how you can resist those smells.”

“How many more bakeries on the list?”

“Four.” She popped the last bit of maple bar into her mouth.

“Why don’t we split up? We can each take two and get this wild goose chase wrapped up before lunch.”

Donna groaned, wiping her hands with a paper napkin. “I think I’ll take a pass on lunch, but yes to splitting up. I’ll take _Frank’s Bakery_ and the wedding cake place. That leaves you _Gilbert’s_ and _Can Dough_.”

“Great. I’ll see you back at the station.”

They parted ways. _Gilbert’s_ was the closest of the two bakeries on his list. Harvey turned left at the next street and walked up the block, grimacing at his aching feet and trying to remember why he’d ever thought it would be a good idea to become a cop. When he was half a block away from the bakery, he saw a familiar figure with one hand on the front door handle, preparing to enter.

Mike Ross.

In the same instant, Mike turned his head and spotted Harvey. Even from that distance, Harvey could see his flush. Guilty flush? Or something else? Mike remained frozen while Harvey continued walking, taking his time and attempting to sort through his conflicting emotions.

Mike had really thrown him for a loop last night. Ever since he’d mentioned that dumb joke, Harvey had been seesawing back and forth between incredulity and hope. On the one hand, it absolutely could not be true that Mike saw and spoke to ghosts. But that joke … that secret that Harvey had hoarded as being all this own … no amount of research could have unearthed that. And if one accepted that, it meant that Gordon Specter still existed in some form or other, and that his consciousness possessed the ability to send a message to his son via Mike Ross.

It went against everything he’d ever assumed to be true. There had to be some trick to it. He was familiar with the concept of cold reading, but not even that would explain Mike’s access to such an intimate piece of his childhood. It angered him that he couldn’t figure it out, and he didn’t attempt to hide that anger as he caught up to Mike.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, giving Mike a scathing look. He experienced a brief, inconvenient flash of memory back to the feel of Mike underneath him last night, which only made him angrier. “Interfering with an investigation? Or perhaps you’re here to warn your accomplice.”

Mike’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe a better question is, what are _you_ doing here? Don’t tell me you actually believe me?”

“I’m following the evidence. The hard, physical evidence.” He crossed his arms. “So, what was your plan in coming here this morning? What do you hope to accomplish?”

“Find the murderer. Obviously.”

“Oh? And if you find him? Were you going to shout, ‘citizen’s arrest’ and read him his rights?”

“No. I thought I could clue you guys in, after Rachel confirmed his identity, that is.” He glanced around, as if searching for someone. “If she ever comes backs.”

“Had a falling out?”

“No. I think Marley scared her off.”

“Marley. The one with all of the inside information from the afterlife?” When Mike didn’t respond, he continued, “And what kind of name is that anyway? Wasn’t that the name of the ghost in that Christmas story? If you’re making up ghosts, I’d think you could be more original that that.”

“I didn’t make anything up. That was all him. All Marley. I told you I didn’t think that was his real name.”

“So, he’s just messing with you?”

A sharp laugh from Mike. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Harvey eyed Mike without speaking for several long moments, trying to maintain his righteous anger, but also honest enough with himself to admit the spark of attraction he felt for Mike. He brushed that particular observation aside as irrelevant. “If I were to ask you something,” he said slowly, “would you give me an honest answer?”

Mike scowled. “I’ve told you the truth about everything so far. You’ve just chosen not to believe me.”

Harvey grabbed his arm, pulling him down the sidewalk a little, away from the bakery’s front door. “Look, Mike, I consider myself a rational man. In my line of work, I examine solid, tangible evidence. Sure, psychology plays into it as well, but the courts can’t convict anyone without a firm grounding in evidence.”

“Can’t they?”

“Okay. Let’s say, they shouldn’t. My point is, all your talk of ghosts goes against everything I’ve always believed to be true. Then, last night, you brought up a detail from my childhood that you couldn’t have known. I’ve gone over and over it in my head – didn’t get much sleep last night, to be honest – and I can’t conceive of a way in which you might have learned about it. I’ve never written it down. I’ve never been one for keeping a journal. And I’ve never mentioned it to any of my friends or acquaintances. I’m stumped.”

“Was there a question in there somewhere?”

“Yes. How did you do it?”

Mike pursed his lips, appearing to think about it. “If you’re looking for the complete truth, I have to admit that I’m not actually sure. I mean, it was Marley who told me to say it.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“Hey, you wanted the truth, and I’m giving it to you. Marley suppled the information, but I don’t know where he got it from. Presumably he had some sort of communication with your father, but beyond that …” Mike shrugged.

“Wait. You’re telling me that you have this gift – this _alleged_ gift – and you don’t know the first thing about how it works?”

“How do your eyes work?”

“What?”

“I mean, you can see, but can you tell me how that is accomplished?”

Harvey had a vague memory from middle school of learning about rods and cones in some science class, but he couldn’t recall the details. He grunted. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

“If we find a man working at one of these bakeries who matches the description Rachel gave me –”

“Allegedly gave you.”

“If we find someone like that, will you believe me then?”

As he gazed into Mike’s wide, vulnerable eyes, he found himself wanting to say yes. That would have been a lie, however. He wasn’t ready to concede anything yet. “Honestly? That might make me all the more suspicious of you.”

Mike yanked his arm out of Harvey’s grasp and turned away, jaw tight. “Whatever. Keep being stubborn. I’m going in.”

“No, you’re not.” Harvey took possession of his arm once more, this time squeezing so hard he was likely to leave bruises. “Leave the investigating to the professionals.”

“Who said anything about investigating? I just happen to have a hankering for some cardamom coffee cake.”

“Mike …”

“You can’t stop me.”

“Oh, I think if I put my mind to it, there are plenty of ways I can stop you, none of which you’ll particularly enjoy.”

They engaged in a brief staring contest. Mike looked away first, having evidently seen the truth of Harvey’s words in his eyes.

“Can I at least watch through the window?” Mike asked.

“Go home.”

“You’re looking for dark hair. A crescent scar on his chin.”

Harvey let go of him and pointed down the sidewalk. “Go. Now.” He waited until Mike had taken one reluctant step away from the bakery before turning his back on him and entering the establishment.

The front of the shop looked much the same as the last few he’d been inside this morning. A handful of small chairs and tables were set close to the window, and the other side of the room was taken up with a large, glass display case, front counter and cash register. Behind the counter, an espresso maker, coffeepot and soda dispenser awaited customer beverage orders.

At the moment, there were no customers. In fact, the space was unoccupied except for Harvey. As the jangle of the bell over the front door died down, a man entered from the back of the room, wiping floury hands on a stained apron. He was an attractive man in his mid to late twenties, with short dark hair, and – Harvey’s muscles tightened – a distinct, curved white scar that marred his otherwise perfect chin.

“Can I help you?” asked the man, moving behind the glass case, standing with his arms crossed.

Harvey flashed his badge at him. “Are you Mr. Gilbert?”

The man rolled his eyes. “Gilbert’s my first name. Gil. I told my dad he should have used our last name for the store, but the dumbass never listens to reason.”

“And what is your last name?”

Gil’s eyes narrowed. “What’s this about, Officer?”

“It’s Detective, and it’s about me asking you a couple of simple questions. Any reason you don’t wish to answer?”

Gil practically spat out his reply. “I don’t gotta say nothing to you, fascist lackey.”

From zero to belligerent in three point two seconds. Charming.

Harvey bit back a groan. “Oh, no, you did not.”

“Whatcha gonna do about it?”

“I’m going to ask you one more time – nicely – to tell me you last name.”

“Get fucked.”

Without warning, a wrapped biscotti from a display near the cash register flew through the air and thwacked Gil in the face.

“Hey! What the hell? You can’t do that.”

Harvey was standing at least five feet away from the display. He lifted his hands to his sides, while every hair on the back of his neck lifted as well. “I didn’t do anything.”

“I don’t care if you are a cop. Try that again and I’ll throw you through the window.”

“I’d think twice about threat –”

Three more biscotti flew towards Gil. He batted them away with a panicked sounding shriek.

“What the fuck? What the fuck, man?”

A glass display case holding doughnuts, croissants and coffee cake cracked on one side into an enormous spiderweb.

“I don’t know how you’re doing that, but you better stop it right the fuck now.”

Harvey felt about five seconds away from losing his shit along with Gil. What was happening?

An earsplitting screech filled the room as every chair dragged across the wood floor, legs leaving marks as they raced toward Gil, not stopping until they ringed him in. One of the small tables lifted off the ground, wobbled in place for a moment, and then flew toward Gil, missing Harvey by mere inches, and missing Gil as well, slamming into the wall two feet to his right.

Harvey was too shocked to move. Gil seemed to be as well. Three more tables lifted off the ground and Gil screamed and made a lunge for the door that presumably led to the kitchen. Two of the tables shot in his direction, but the third zeroed in on Harvey.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered, and vaulted over the counter where he ducked down, pressing his back against the flimsy particleboard.

“Rachel, stop!”

Harvey’s lifted his head cautiously to find that Mike had entered the bakery. He wasn’t looking at either Harvey or Gil, but had his gaze directed somewhere between them.

“Mike,” said Harvey, his voice a little breathless, “what is going on?”

Mike spared him only a quick glance. “Rachel’s here. She’s not happy.”

“You think?”

“Who the fuck is Rachel?” wailed Gil, crouching against the wall with his arms held protectively over his head.

All three tables fell to the ground, missing all human targets, both intended and unintended.

******

Defying Harvey, Mike had stuck around. He’d been peering through the window, watching Harvey confront a man who matched Rachel’s description of her killer, and so had seen the first biscotti go flying. He didn’t understand what he was seeing at first. By the time Rachel and her Murdered Girl Posse were playing Poltergeist Musical Chairs, he realized that it wasn’t the taste of exhaust that was making him grimace, but the taste of burnt paper.

Without a thought for the consequences, he charged into the bakery and ordered Rachel to stop. She gave him one venomous, frustrated glare and then all the ghosts vacated the premises in unison. Relative calm descended, except for Gil (probably Gil Junior, Mike deduced), who had descended into full-blown hysteria.

Harvey stood slowly and walked out from behind the counter, dark gaze fixed on Mike. Was it Mike’s imagination, or was there something in that gaze that resembled admiration and maybe – just maybe – a tiny speck of gratitude?

“Are you all right?” Mike asked.

“Yeah. Of course. It was getting a little, er, intense in here. And then you … well, thanks.”

Gil seemed to have regained a portion of his composure. He rose to his feet and pointed a shaking finger that wavered between Harvey and Mike. “You need to leave.”

Harvey turned his attention to Gil. “We’re not done talking.”

“You assaulted me. I’m not talking to you without a lawyer present.”

Harvey opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “I was right here. We both were. We saw what happened.”

“It was some kind of trick. I don’t know how you did it, but it must have been a trick. If you don’t get out of my store right now, I’ll report you. This is police brutality.”

Mike watched Harvey closely, willing him to whip out the handcuffs and drag Gil downtown. He didn’t do that. After a pause, during which his jaw muscles worked, revealing his frustration, he turned his gaze to Mike and jerked his head toward the door. “You heard the man. Let’s get out of here.”

Mike could scarcely believe what he was hearing. He had no wish to be left alone with a violent killer, however, so he scurried after Harvey, and out the door. “You can’t just let him off like that,” he insisted, practically running to keep up as Harvey strode down the sidewalk. “He’s the guy. He’s the Soho Slasher.”

Harvey halted so abruptly that Mike was several feet past him before he noticed. Clicking his tongue in annoyance, he reversed direction to stand in front of him. “What more proof do you need?” he asked.

“Any,” Harvey replied heatedly. “A speck of proof. An iota. I’d even settle for a smidgen. Right now, we have jack squat.”

“What do you mean? The ghosts – there were four of them in that room when I walked in – positively identified him. And you were eyewitness to all that, with the flying biscotti and the levitating tables. There’s no way you can deny it now. Ghosts are real, and they talk to me. You believe me now, right?”

Harvey didn’t answer right away. He frowned, not meeting Mike’s eyes. “I saw something. I’d need further empirical evidence to verify what that was.”

“Oh, right,” Mike scoffed. “Don’t believe your lying eyes. Or, hey, how about this? I’m not saying it was aliens, but … maybe it was aliens.” With a snort of disgust, he turned away and started walking, and now it was Harvey who had to hurry to keep up with him. “Shit. Maybe I should have just let Rachel and her gal pals continue to tear up the place.” He gave his arm a violent jerk, dodging Harvey’s hand which had reached for him again. “Where the fuck is the subway entrance?” Something occurred to him and he spun in a tight circle, startling Harvey, who stopped and backed up a step. “I want my bike back.”

“I told you before –”

“I was cleared of any charges. I need that bike to get around. You know what this is? It’s harassment, pure and simple. You’re just mad because you couldn’t solve the case, and I did. And you’re going to get all the glory, probably a promotion, while I’m out on the street and I can barely afford a fucking subway token.” His voice had risen as he spoke, and now he was shouting and poking a finger into Harvey’s chest for emphasis. “The least you could do – the absolute, very least – is to admit I was telling the truth. Ghosts are real. They’re real, and sometimes they talk to me and work overtime to ruin my life.”

Harvey managed to snare his wrist and Mike broke off. He shot a look at Harvey’s face. He was staring back at Mike with a look of concern on his face.

“What do you mean?” asked Harvey slowly, “you’re out on the street?”

Mike choked out a slightly hysterical laugh. “Just what I said. I’m short on my rent, and I was suspended for a week at work because I never showed up last night. Knowing Trevor – my boss – he’ll probably keep my schedule light for the next month or more, being the vindictive shit he is. No hours, no money, no rent, no apartment. Simple math.”

“What about your seances?”

And that set Mike off again. He yanked his wrist free and glared at Harvey. “They’re not seances. It’s just me, contacting a dead friend or relative and asking them questions.”

Harvey raised an eyebrow.

“Okay. Fine. They’re seances. If you want to get technical. Whatever you want to call it, it’s not bringing in a lot of money. It’s a difficult business to develop. Reputation is everything. You get a couple of bad reviews on Yelp, and it’s next to impossible to claw your way back up again. The problem is, I don’t seem to have any say in which ghosts will speak to me.” He quirked his mouth and huffed out a laugh. “I don’t know why I’m even telling you this. I should be off somewhere selling my plasma, or … or … doing some crimes.”

Now it was Harvey’s turn to laugh, although with a disapproving note. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to.”

“No chance of that.” Mike had meant to snarl the words but heard with some embarrassment that they came out sounding more complimentary than angry.

Of course, Harvey hadn’t missed the change in tone. He paused, looking thoughtful for several seconds. “I’ll tell you what. Let me give you a lift home. I suppose that’s the least I can do. You did sort of save my bacon back there.”

Mike wanted to turn him down, to salvage his pride and walk away with his head held high, but he didn’t do that, rationalizing that even more than his pride, he needed to save his dwindling funds, plus he didn’t want to risk running into the gunshot victim who usually haunted the C train this time of day. “All right,” he conceded. “I guess I wouldn’t mind a ride.” He glanced at the sidewalk and then looked up at Harvey from underneath his lashes, all at once feeling shy. “Thanks.”

Harvey’s response was a rough grunt. He started walking, pulling out his phone as he did so, to hold a brief, emphatic conversation with someone Mike assumed to be his partner, filling her in on the events at _Gilbert’s Bakery_ , and asking her to have their Captain assign someone to keep an eye on Gil Junior. He ended the call by saying he’d be back at the station in a few hours.

Mike did his best to match Harvey’s long strides, while his mind spun with a myriad of inappropriate thoughts. Would Harvey come up to his apartment again? Was there a possibility of anything happening between them? Was Harvey’s sex face the same as his angry detective face? Had Mike ever replaced that empty bottle of lube? Did he have any condoms left? Would Harvey whip out the cuffs?

And what about Marley?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading1


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to change the rating to explicit. Apologies if that makes this a no-fly zone for you, but Mike and Harvey are unrepentant horn dogs, and, well, events transpired.

Harvey pulled into an empty spot in front of Mike’s building, set the emergency brake, and switched off the engine, not sure why he was bothering, since he needed to turn around and head straight back to the station. He hadn’t been able to say the words out loud yet, but after what had happened at the bakery, he’d run out of arguments against the existence of … _something_ he couldn’t explain. Might as well call it ghosts, even though that conjured images of Casper, and whatever had been flinging those tables around at _Gilbert’s_ had definitely not been friendly.

He turned to study Mike, who hadn’t made a move yet to get out of the car. If Harvey was going to concede the existence of ghosts, he supposed he’d have to admit that maybe, possibly, Mike had the ability to communicate with them. This concession brought with it a wave of relief. Maybe Mike wasn’t the grifter – and nutjob – that he’d assumed. 

Well, still a grifter of sorts, since he’d all but admitted that he lied to most of his clients. Harvey understood desperation, though, and in his years as a cop had witnessed worse responses to it than Mike’s. It’s not like he was robbing banks or dealing drugs to get by. The people that came to him to contact their dearly departed did so willingly. Mike’s alibi, Amelia Rayburn, had nothing but glowing comments for Mike when they’d contacted her.

And why, exactly, was he trying so hard to absolve Mike in his mind? He knew the reason. It was the same reason he was still sitting here at the curb and not racing back to Manhattan to work the case.

Harvey sighed. “Mike.”

Mike pulled his gaze away from whatever it had been fixed on in the middle distance and shifted his body so he could look at Harvey. Color rose to his cheeks, which made his eyes appear even more vibrantly blue. He’d been quiet for most of the drive, seemingly sunk deep in thought. “You do believe me now, right?” He asked the question with more than a touch of anxiety. “You never did really say.”

Harvey hesitated, feeling continued resistance within himself to speaking the words. Mike looked like he needed to hear them, though, and Harvey found himself wanting to remove that worried expression from Mike’s face. It was only the truth that Mike was asking for, after all. 

“Let’s just say I’m considering the possibility.” Mike slumped in apparent defeat, so Harvey continued in a rush, “Something happened back there that I can’t explain. Whatever was tossing that furniture around seemed – _seemed –_ to respond to you.” He placed a hand on Mike’s shoulder, meaning it as a gesture of comfort or reassurance. “I can’t conceive of any way you could have faked what happened or set it up in advance. I saw what I saw, and I’ve never been one to deny what was right in front of my face.”

Mike’s expression cleared slightly. “So, you’ll arrest that guy? Gil? The case is solved?”

“In the eyes of the law, the case is nowhere near solved. We now have a suspect, yes, but we have zero evidence to accuse, much less convict him. We can’t even get a warrant because every reason we have for suspecting him is not just fruit from the poison tree, but fruit from the … the loony tree. No offense.” He realized he was still holding Mike’s shoulder and pulled his hand away to rest it on the steering wheel.

“Sure. No offense,” said Mike bitterly. “I always enjoy being referred to as ‘loony.’”

“You’ve misunderstood me. It’s not that I think you’re loony. Not anymore. Not much” He couldn’t prevent the small smile that touched his lips. “The DA might hold a different opinion.” He’d been questioning the wisdom of what he was about to suggest all the way from Manhattan, and still wasn’t sure it was advisable. He was out of options though, so he went for it. “I, uh, was thinking it might be helpful to interview your witness myself.”

“My witness?”

Harvey cleared his throat and forced himself to say, “Rachel. That is, if you think she’d be willing to talk without juggling the furniture. By the way, is that something that happens a lot?”

Mike shook his head. “I’ve run into a couple of poltergeists over the years, but nothing like that. It’s mostly pictures falling off the wall and dishes being rearranged. I’m guessing that by banding together, the murdered women managed to amp up their strength, but I don’t’ really know. Their anger probably played into is as well.” He bit his lip, appearing to consider Harvey’s suggestion. “I’ll see if I can contact her, but she comes and go as she pleases, and I’m not sure she’d want to visit the station again.”

“No, you’ve misunderstood me. This wouldn’t be at the station. This would be completely off the books. Just you and me and Rachel. Or any of the other victims, if they’re willing.”

“Oh. That makes sense.” Mike’s mouth quirked into a half-smile. “If you want to do it at my place, I could give you the whole séance experience.”

“Is that really necessary? I was thinking of something more informal.”

“Whenever you want. My schedule is pretty open at the moment. As in, completely open.”

Harvey tapped his fingers lightly on the steering wheel. “What about right now?”

Mike gave him a startled look. “Oh. Now, as in right now? Okay. I guess that works for me. You sure you won’t be missed back at the station?”

“How long is this going to take?”

The expression on Mike’s face was, for once, unreadable. “That all depends, I guess.”

_ On what?  _ Harvey wanted to ask. Instead, he opened the car door. “Let’s go.”

Mike paused in the open doorway of his apartment, testing his taste buds for any hints of burnt paper, and scenting the air for ozone, but detecting neither. It seemed that he was in luck, and Marley was not currently lurking inside. Probably. Mike had begun to suspect that he possessed powers beyond most of the other ghosts he’d dealt with and could mask his arrival when he chose to, which seemed to be most of the time. 

Mike entered, and Harvey followed him in.

“Take a seat anywhere,” he said, and then indicated the cloth-covered table in the corner. “Perhaps you’d like to …”

Ignoring the suggestion, Harvey took a seat on the couch. 

Mike wished he could offer him a drink, but he was out of beer and pretty much everything else. Harvey was on duty anyway, so it was just as well. Mike could have used a drink himself right then. Even though Harvey seemed to have reluctantly accepted that his ability was real, Mike was hit with a sudden case of performance anxiety. Would Rachel put in an appearance, or would she leave him hanging? He’d developed strategies for dealing with his clients when the spirit world was not cooperating, but was reluctant to lie to Harvey. It would be a shame to threaten their fragile truce.

In an effort to stall, and to cover his nerves, he wandered over to his computer to check for emails. He didn’t expect to find any, and so was pleasantly surprised to find four responses to his new Craigslist ad. He couldn’t prevent the wide grin that broke out on his face. When he glanced across the room, he found Harvey watching him curiously.

“Looks like I might have some clients lined up,” he explained. 

“You’re welcome,” said a voice directly behind him.

“God damn it, Marley,” Mike yelled. He whirled to face the ghost, his heart slamming against his ribs. “Are you trying to kill me? If you think that’s going to get you somebody to hang with you in the afterlife, don’t bother. You’re the last person I’d want to spend eternity with.” 

“Well, there’s gratitude for you,” said the ghost. “And after I’ve been out drumming up business for you.”

“How did you –” Mike might have continued, but Harvey had come to stand at his shoulder, peering at the spot Marley currently occupied.

“Is one of them here right now?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” said Mike, “but not the one we wanted.”

Marley pouted. “Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings.” He crossed his arms, tilting his head to one side. “You know, you should be nicer to me. If you need to speak to Ms. Zane, I could be persuaded to deliver a message.”

Mike was fairly certain he knew the answer but asked the question anyway. “Persuaded, how?”

“Let me see you make out with Mr. Tall, Dark and Angry over there.” 

“I’m not going to do that.”

Marley squinted at Harvey. “Although … he looks significantly less angry at the moment. Did something happen today?”

“What’s he saying?” asked Harvey. “What does he want you to do?” He had his hand on Mike’s arm and a look of avid fascination on his face.

“He wants to help, except …”

“Except, what? Let him help. This could be the break the case needs.”

“But –”

“For fuck’s sake, give him what he wants.” His voice dropped back to a whisper. “He doesn’t want your soul, does he?”

Marley let out an amused snort and Mike shot him an affronted look.

“No,” Mike ground out, “it’s not like that. He doesn’t want my soul. Even though he’d be lucky to have it.”

Marley rolled his eyes.

“Then what’s the problem?” asked Harvey.

Mike turned to face Harvey. “The problem is … the _problem_ …” He breathed out slowly. “Oh, hell. Nothing. There is no problem.” He leaned forward and kissed Harvey.

******

The kiss caught Harvey off-guard. He reared back a little, breaking the kiss, but didn’t let go of Mike’s arm. “What are you doing?”

Mike’s shoulders slumped. “I thought – oh, hell. Never mind what I thought.”

Harvey studied Mike’s downturned face and licked his own lips. It hadn’t been much of a kiss, but he hadn’t really given it a chance. He required further data to determine if it was something that should be repeated and possibly followed up on. He rested his index finger underneath Mike’s chin, tipping his head back up, and moved in, pressing his mouth to Mike’s. And there it was, that flare of heat he’d felt last night. He slipped the tip of tongue between Mike’s lips, moved his mouth over his. Yes. There was definitely something there.

He deepened the kiss, but kept it soft, easing his tongue all the way past Mike’s pliant lips. He cupped his bottom with both hands, pulling their groins together, and moaned as Mike’s erection nudged his. Mike responded enthusiastically, hooking a foot around Harvey’s leg. A surge of heat washed through him, firing his blood. He rapidly ran the logistics in his mind. Bend Mike over the desk? Walk him over to the couch? Break off and drag him into the bedroom? He did have a bedroom, didn’t he?

Mike wrapped his arms around Harvey’s neck. Fuck the logistics, he decided, and went to work unfastening Mike’s jeans. Mike broke the kiss, pulling back just far enough so he could look Harvey in the eye. “You should know,” he panted, “the ghost, er, Marley.”

“Forget him.”

“Well, just as a point of courtesy, I should ask if you are okay with an audience?”

That gave him pause, but only for a moment, and then he set himself to sucking a mark on Mike’s neck and tugging Mike’s pants down in quick, firm jerks. “Marley can do whatever he likes,” he growled against Mike’s neck. “Tell me what you want. Want me to blow you? Want to blow me? Can I fuck you?”

“No,” Mike gasped over the top of Harvey’s head, and for a second he thought Mike was rejecting his suggestions, even though he’d been the one to initiate this. Then he added, “You don’t get a vote in this. If you won’t leave, just shut up.”

The ghost. Mike was talking to the ghost. How freaky was that? Not the talking part. He was already beginning to get used to that. No, it was the thought of being watched by an entity he couldn’t see. Or maybe the thought of being watched, full stop. It felt weird and dirty and … _hot_. He growled again, steered Mike to the couch and shoved him onto it. He lay on top of him, working a hand between them and stroked him through his underwear while Mike squirmed and clutched his ass.

“Clothes,” Mike panted. “Too many.”

Mike’s jeans were bunched around his knees. Harvey obliged him by yanking them the rest of the way off, followed by his underwear. He unfastened his own pants and pulled out his cock. “Roll over.”

Mike rolled and raised up onto his knees, hands braced on the arm of the couch. He looked over his shoulder, eyes wild. “Supplies. Nightstand.” He stripped off his t-shirt, leaving himself completely naked.

Harvey groaned in frustration. He put one foot on the floor, preparatory to standing and racing into the bedroom, and then froze, stunned. A bottle of lube and a condom hovered in the air near the bedroom doorway. As he stared, they shot across the room and hit him in the chest. He managed to grab them before they fell to the floor. “Uh” he said stupidly. “Thanks?”

Equal parts creeped out and turned on, he knelt behind Mike with one foot on the floor and uncapped the lube.

“That was fast,” said Mike. His head rested on his folded arms.

Harvey didn’t mention the spectral assist. He attempted to put Marley out of his mind and set about working lube into Mike’s ass, opening him up, finger fucking him until he was rocking back into it, begging for more. Hands shaking with excitement, Harvey ripped open the wrapper and rolled on the condom. Biting his lip, he stroked lube onto himself and then lined himself up with Mike’s hole. He pushed the head of his cock past resistance and paused. 

“God, just do it,” Mike grated out.

Harvey pushed halfway inside him. Mike arched and shoved back to impale himself on Harvey’s cock. Taking this as his cue, Harvey began a slow rocking motion, fingers digging into Mike’s hips. He sped up. Mike thrust back to meet him. The each caught the rhythm and just rutted and panted for long minutes. The only sounds in the room were the creak of the couch, their harsh breaths and occasional low curses.

Harvey yanked Mike’s hips back, changed his angle of attack, found his target, and Mike threw his head back and screamed. Harvey kept nailing him, and Mike kept screaming. Dimly, Harvey acknowledged that this was the best fuck he’d had in years. Everything else fled from his mind as he thrust into Mike over and over – the job, the murders, the ghost.

Well, no. He hadn’t forgot the ghost, not completely. That presence remained somewhere at the outer edges of his awareness, and it should have bothered him, but it seemed to have the opposite effect, spiking his arousal even higher. Someone was watching, and they were putting on a damn fine show.

Mike got a hand underneath himself and jerked off as he grunted and whined and finally screamed once more as he came long and hard. His ass clenched around Harvey’s cock, and a couple of thrust later he was coming as well. He kept his arms wrapped around Mike’s middle, driving into him, riding out his orgasm until he collapsed against Mike’s damp back, pinning him to the couch. They both panted and fought to catch their breath.

“That was …” said Harvey.

“Yeah.”

After a time, Harvey edged slightly off Mike and pulled out, tying off the condom and setting it out of the way on the floor. A splutter of laughter escaped him as he realized that he was still nearly fully dressed. His pants and briefs were bunched around his hips, his tie had been knocked askew, but everything else remained in place. He’d even left his shoes on.

Mike turned his head and squinted at him. “What?” He looked fucked out and utterly relaxed.

“Nothing. Just … _my God_.”

Mike nodded wordlessly, evidently agreeing with Harvey’s less than articulate assessment.

They rearranged themselves, sitting up next to each other. 

“Ugh,” said Mike, scooting closer to Harvey, probably to get off the wet spot. “I may need to throw this couch out.”

Harvey let out another low laugh. “Don’t do that. I find I’ve grown rather fond of this couch all of a sudden.”

Mike’s answering laugh contained a trace of apprehension. “So, that happened. What even was that?” He turned his head sharply to glare at empty space. “I know it was sex, you jerk. You got what you wanted, now leave us alone. Go find Rachel.”

_ Oh, right. Rachel _ . That’s why Harvey had come up here in the first place, wasn’t it? “Is he gone?” he murmured.

“For the moment.” Mike’s gaze dropped, making him look shy which, considering his recent enthusiastic screams and his current state of nudity should have been ridiculous, but was instead kind of cute.

Reluctantly, Harvey glanced at his watch, and started putting his clothes back in order. “If Rachel is going to show up, you might want to get dressed,” he pointed out.

Mike reached for his jeans. They were both quiet as they zipped and buttoned and fastened. Mike had just dragged his shirt back over his head when he went still, staring at a spot in the middle of the living room.

“Rachel,” he said. “Hi. You up for answering a few questions?”

******

Marley was still the biggest asshole Mike had ever met, but at least he’d held up his end of the deal. The ghost had gotten his personal, live action porno, and had in turn delivered Rachel to them. Of course, Marley had only asked for a make-out session. Everything beyond that had been all Mike – and all Harvey. And … just, _wow_. He still could not wrap his head around how amazing it had been, how incendiary. It was as if, almost from the first touch, something had ignited between them. He shivered, forcing his attention back to Rachel.

She looked different. Grimmer. Not as angry as when he’d seen her at the bakery, but she had the look of someone who was finding the afterlife to be a challenge. Marley had not returned with her. He was probably off on a different plane somewhere getting his ghostly rocks off. Mike might have felt more appalled at the notion, but he was too relaxed and buzzing with post-sex endorphins.

Rachel wrinkled her nose and frowned. “Did … did you just do it with the mean detective?”

Mike nearly choked on his tongue. “No!” He shot a glance at Harvey, who was giving him a quizzical look. “Maybe.” He held his thumb and forefinger half an inch apart. “A little.”

She sniffed and muttered, “And I thought I’d made bad life choices.”

“Look,” said Mike, “that … development is irrelevant. Detective Specter has had a change of heart, er, mind, and would like to interview you. With my help, of course.”

“Oh, so now he believes I exist. Was it all the sex that convinced him?’

Surprised, Mike regarded her with narrowed eyes. “He was at the bakery this morning. Don’t you remember?”

“He was?” Her expression grew uncertain. “I … we were focused on that monster.” She paced to the window and folded her arms across her chest, as if she’d grown cold. “I felt … I wasn’t thinking clearly. There was so much anger, doubled and redoubled and quadrupled. It was like a thunderstorm, or a hurricane, and I was right in the middle of it.” She gave her head a shake, as if to clear it. “We have to stop this guy.” Turning to Harvey, she pointed at him, her eyes lit with something that sent a cold chill through Mike. “He needs to catch him. He needs to do his fucking job.”

“He is. Calm down. Like I said, he wants to ask you some questions. Would that be okay?”

She nodded once, not exactly reluctant, but wary.

“Okay. Great. Let’s do this.” He went to sit on the couch, thought better of it, and moved to the table in the corner, motioning for Harvey to join him. “Guess you get the séance experience after all.”

When they were all seated – Rachel across the table from them – Mike considered dimming the lights and turning on the fake candles. Then he pictured himself sitting across a table from Harvey, no ghosts around, lights turned low and some real, classy candles burning on the table between them. A little wine, a little dinner, a little … _Focus,_ he ordered himself. He left the lighting as it was.

“Rachel’s here,” he told Harvey, gesturing across the table. “What would you like to ask her?”

Harvey stared across the table as if he could actually see Rachel. If he was nervous to be addressing a spirit, it didn’t show. “Hello, Ms. Zane. Thank you for coming. Could you start by running through everything that happened that evening?”

Rachel began to speak, and Mike repeated everything she said to Harvey. It was the same story she’d related to Mike. When she and Mike were done talking, Harvey was silent for a minute or two, appearing to absorb what she’d said, and trying to formulate his next question.

“Can you tell me anything about the murder weapon?”

She closed her eyes, as if this would help her think. A second later, her eyes popped open again. “A knife,” she said.

Harvey, who’d inched forward on his seat as if anticipating the lead that would blow the case wide open, slumped and gave Mike a look that seemed to say, _are you kidding me?_

But Rachel wasn’t finished yet. “A bread knife. A nine-inch Miyabi Birchwood from the Damascus Collection. The blade is made of micro-carbide powdered steel, and the handle is Masur birch. It’s popular in Japan, but relatively rare in the States.” After Mike relayed the information to Harvey, she shrugged. “That’s all I can tell you, except that I wish I’d been able to afford a knife like that when I was alive.”

Mike repeated everything she’d said. A short silence fell.

“Uh.” Mike exchanged a glance with Harvey. “Does that help?”

“It might.”

“Might?” Rachel practically screeched. 

Mike would have shushed her, but he was the only one who could hear her. 

Harvey must have seen his flinch “What?” he asked, looking back and forth between Mike and the empty chair.

“She, uh, wishes to state, with a certain degree of emphasis, that she believes this to be an important lead.”

“If he’d get his head out of his ass,” she fumed.

“It might be,” Harvey allowed. “We can try to track down who in this area has bought one of those knives recently, and maybe see if the lab can match the serration patterns on the knife to those on the victims. It also tells me that he probably isn’t disposing of his weapon after each attack, if it’s such a pricey item. It’s a lead, but not likely enough to get a search warrant.”

Rachel looked as if she was about to erupt again, so Mike held out his hands, palm forward, in an effort to calm her down.

“But,” Harvey was saying, “it’s more than we had before, and you never know what detail will break a case open.” He paused. “Can you ask her if any of the other victims might be willing to speak to us?”

Mike gave Rachel an expectant look, but she shook her head and said, “They’re … the other victims … they’re not right. The last victim before me is the only one with whom I can hold a conversation, but just barely. The rest are pure, raw emotion. Rage and sorrow and a thirst for revenge. I think … I think I’m changing too, growing more like them.” She flickered briefly. “The longer justice takes, the angrier they – we – become.” She flickered again.

“That’s a no on the other victims,” Mike told Harvey. “Anything else you want to ask her? I don’t think she’s going to stick around much longer.”

“Yeah. Ask her how she knew that, about the knife.”

Mike asked her.

“I’m a foodie,” she replied. “Was. Not anymore. And I loved to cook. I was always looking for the best tools. The Miyabi Birchwood line stuck out because of its unique look. The handles are beautiful.” Her face contorted. Rage glowed in her eyes like flames. “ _He_ doesn’t deserve anything so beautiful.” She flickered again and was gone.

“I guess the interview is over,” said Mike.

“Gone?”

Mike nodded. 

“Okay. Well.” Harvey shifted in his seat, as if searching for a graceful exit line. What he managed to come up with, accompanied by a thumb jerk towards the door, was, “Duty calls.”

“Right.” Mike knew how this worked. The heat and the hunger and the wild, fumbling race to completion, followed in short order by the race to put as much distance between one another as possible. The sudden, wrenching melancholy he felt was a new twist. He wouldn’t have minded … well, it didn’t matter. He didn’t regret what they’d done, but he wasn’t going to kid himself that it was anything more than a one-off. There could be no future between a cop and a guy like him.

“Will you let me know how it turns out?” he asked. “It would be good to know that guy is behind bars.”

“Sure,” said Harvey, and there was no mistaking his tone. He’d had a good time, didn’t want to be rude, but Mike would likely never hear from him again.

Mike trailed after him to the door. Harvey paused with his hand on the doorknob, giving Mike an indecisive look. For a second or two, Mike thought he would at least get a goodbye-thanks-for-the-fuck kiss, but Harvey only nodded his head once, dredged up a stingy, half-smile, opened the door, and was gone.

Mike allocated five minutes for his post-sex depression and regret, and then sprang into action, returning to his computer to answer the Craigslist responses and schedule some client meetings. If all went well on that front, it might be possible to salvage the week after all and keep a roof over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> (I estimate a two to four week wait between chapters going forward.)


	6. Chapter 6

Things were definitely looking up. By ten o’clock the following morning, Mike had booked three client appointments for that week, and had received an additional five enquiries about his ad. Whatever Marley was doing to draw people to the listing, it was working.

In the afternoon, Trevor phoned him to ask if he could return to _Somerby’s_ that night. His suspension was over. Tommy had quit in the middle of his shift, leaving a dozen clients alone in the bar with access to unlimited quantities of free booze.

“They would have cleaned me out if Jenny hadn’t stopped in after her shift and called me with a head’s up. Seven of my best paying customers are on the no-fly list for the next month. Fucking Tommy. I could strangle the guy.”

Mike stifled his instinctual _I told you so_ , and silently lectured himself to just be thankful for the shifts that had been restored to him. “Why would he do that? Was he sick?”

“No. Get this. He claims the place is haunted. How big of an idiot does he think I am? If there were ghosts in there, you would have spotted them years ago, right?”

“Uh, sure. Hey, I gotta go. I’ve got clients due in a few minutes. See you tonight.” He ended the call and glared at Marley, who was sitting on the kitchen counter, thumbing through Mike’s copy of _Eat, Love, Pray._

The ghost looked at him over the top of the book, all innocence. “What?”

“That was you, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Bull – Oh, never mind. I suppose I should just be grateful for the assist.”

“You absolutely should.” He set the book down, flickered once, and reappeared two feet in front of Mike. “Might I suggest one or two ways in which you might demonstrate your gratitude?”

“No, you may not. Besides which, I can guess.”

“That reminds me. When is the sexy detective returning for a repeat performance?”

“He’s not.”

“Are you so sure about that?”

Mike didn’t want to talk about Harvey. He didn’t want to think about him either. Turning his back on Marley, he moved to the corner table to smooth out the tablecloth, check that the batteries in the candles were still working, open the music streaming app on his phone and dock it on the Bluetooth speaker. Soothing harp music filled the room, punctuated every so often by a silvery cascade of bells.

“The Fullertons should be here any minute,” said Mike. “Vicki and Todd. She lost her mother two months ago and she has questions about the will. Specifically, where Mom hid it. Anything you can tell me about that?”

Marley squinted up at the ceiling, as if trying to recall the details. “The mother, Felice Thorn, threatened the four sisters frequently about cutting one or the other of them out of her will. Besides Vicki, there are Patti, Bobbi and Mimi. They aren’t currently speaking to one another.” He paused, glancing over at Mike. “You know, I could probably lure the other three in here for individual sessions and charge them each separately. What do you think?”

Mike verified the time on his phone. Two minutes until showtime. He hurried into the bathroom to check his look in the mirror. He’d spent far too long that morning agonizing about what to wear. He’d even browsed the internet for caftans, until Marley had wondered out loud if a wizard’s robe was really the best choice. Finally, he’d settled on his best jeans and one of Trevor’s white silk dress shirts that had somehow migrated to his closet. It was several sizes too large for him, giving it a flowy look that he chose to believe lent it a vaguely boho air. Maybe he’d invest in some chunky silver jewelry when his bank account was no longer on life support. He kept his feet bare, hoping this would evoke Grateful Dead associations. Mentally, he added a Persian area rug to his future shopping list. He could likely negotiate a good deal from that place on Canal Street that was always going out of business.

“Don’t worry,” purred Marley at his shoulder, “you’re still pretty.”

“Ugh.”

Someone buzzed his intercom from downstairs. Mike gave the ghost a repressive look and went to let the Fullertons into the building. “What about that will?” he asked. “Where can they find it?”

“That’s what’s so delicious. There never was a will. Felice was a stone-cold bitch who enjoyed playing her kids off against each other. Aren’t people the worst?”

Mike groaned. “Great. What am I supposed to tell Vicki?”

“How about the truth? Knowledge is power. Maybe she can figure out some way to screw over Patti, Bobbi and Mimi. In a nice, sisterly way.”

“I thought you were supposed to be helping me.”

Before Marley could respond, someone knocked on his door and Mike opened it to admit the Fullertons.

“Vicki, Todd, welcome,” he said in his smarmiest voice, and then gave each of them brief hug, ignoring Marley’s snort of laughter when Todd hugged him back a little too enthusiastically. “Thank you for trusting me with your afterlife communication needs. Please have a seat, and we’ll get started.”

******

Mike shut the door on the Fullertons and sagged against it. “Oh, my hell. I did not enjoy that.”

Vicki Fullerton, Mike’s latest nominee for worst person in the world, had refused to believe Mike, and insisted he provide the location of Felice’s nonexistent will, threatening to contact her attorney and commence legal action against him if he didn’t come through with the goods. Luckily, he’d insisted on cash up front, which had immediately disappeared into his jeans pocket. Just let their attorney try to prove they’d paid him anything.

The situation might have deteriorated into physical violence if Marley hadn’t intervened with some timely table-rapping and the revelation that older sister Patti was at that very moment en route to Felice’s house along with her husband and three kids, with a moving truck stuffed with their belongings.

“Possession is nine-tenths of the law,” intoned Mike with a foreboding expression.

“That bitch!” cried Vicki. “Let’s roll, Todd.”

On his way out, Todd gave Mike a brief, smoldering look and tossed a twenty-dollar tip onto the table.

Mike doubled-checked the door locks and collapsed onto the couch. “No more Thorns, or Fullertons, or whatever the fuck the rest are calling themselves. Do I even want to know the details of tomorrow’s appointment?”

“Probably not.” Marley appeared uncharacteristically contrite as he flickered from one location to another. “I suppose that could have gone better.”

Mike decided to interpret that as an apology. He waved a hand, as if to brush it aside. “It’s fine. Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy for the income, but do you think it would be possible to vet the clients more thoroughly after this?”

Marley nodded moodily.

Mike peered at him, surprised to realize that he seemed depressed. “Hey, are you all right?”

“Hm? Of course. Why do you ask?”

“No reason.”

Marley sighed theatrically. “Well, I guess should get going.”

Before he could stop himself, Mike heard himself say, “You can stick around for a while if you want.”

A sad smile from Marley. “You don’t mean that.”

He didn’t. Not really. But he’d already made the offer. “I could put on a movie.”

Marley brightened perceptibly. “Can we watch porn together?”

Mike’s shoulders slumped. That’s what he got for letting his guard down. No way was he going to sit around watching porn with the world’s most problematic ghost, but he needed to keep him happy enough to insure he kept coming back to help with his client visits. “I’ll tell you what. I’ve got to get ready for work, but I’ll put something on with the volume turned down, and you can stay as long as you like.”

“Oh, wow, solitary porn,” Marley groused. “Might as well still be alive.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Wait. I’m not saying no. Can I choose which one?”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“School of Cock sounds fun. Or, how about Cock of Ages?”

“Those aren’t real.”

“Wait. I know what I want to see. Fraggle Cock.”

“How dare you.”

“Queue it up, babe.”

Mike made a mental note to get serious about researching how to perform an exorcism, and then mentally underlined the note three times in mental thick, black marker.

******

Harvey was about ready to give up and arrest Gilbert Banks, Jr. for the lesser charge of keeping him up two nights in a row. Captain Pearson, skeptical and growing more pissed off daily over the complete lack of evidence, hadn’t been willing to commit adequate manpower to keep an eye on their suspect 24 hours a day, so after their shift ended, he and Donna had parked a block from the bakery, followed Gil to his apartment five blocks away when the bakery closed for the night, and took turns staying awake to make sure he didn’t slip out into the city to hunt for his next victim.

He knew this was the guy. He _knew_ it, but even Donna was starting to side-eye him over his conviction. It was an uncomfortable feeling, having everyone questioning your judgement, and probably your sanity as well. Except for Donna, he hadn’t shared the reason for his certainty about Gil Banks. To do so would have amounted to career suicide. He began to understand how Mike must have felt all these years, being mocked and called crazy to his face. He didn’t want to think about Mike, though. He might be an interesting guy and a fantastic fuck, but to get involved with somebody associated with a case, especially someone who’d been a suspect, no matter how briefly, was a huge ethical violation.

When they weren’t physically watching Banks, he and Donna were digging into every conceivable aspect of his life. He seemed to be a loner who rarely ventured out for anything of a social nature. He’d attended culinary school a few years ago but had been kicked out over an incident which the school had left maddeningly vague. They’d yet to locate any former or current girlfriends or boyfriends. The sum total of his life seemed to be working at the bakery for ten hours a day, going home, and then getting up the next day to do it again.

The lead Rachel had given them regarding the knife hadn’t turned up anything useful. That model may have been more popular outside the States, but it still sold plenty here. Close to a dozen kitchen supply stores in the greater New York area stocked them on a limited basis. They’d finagled customer lists out of a few of them, but Gilbert Banks hadn’t shown up on any of them.

Just as Harvey was preparing to head out for the third night of surveillance, Donna announced that she’d had enough. She was tired of burning the candle at both ends, she doubted that anything useful would come of it, or if it did, it might take weeks or months.

“I have a life outside this job,” she added, ignoring his baleful glare.

“Oh, so you’re willing to let a murderer go free just so you can get yourself laid?”

“It doesn’t have to be one thing or the other. It’s called balance.” Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Maybe your problem is you need to get laid too.”

Louis had been eavesdropping, as usual. “What is this I hear? The great Detective Harvey Specter is having trouble with the ladies? Do my ears deceive me?”

Donna’s smile grew mischievous. “Is that your problem, Harvey? Trouble with the ladies?”

Harvey squinted and imagined lasering her face off with his eyes. “I’d leave now, if I were you.”

She shrugged into her coat, grabbed her purse, and flipped him off breezily as she strode out of the squad room.

So, he had two choices now, he figured. He could follow Donna’s lead and take off for the night, or he could grab a quad venti Americano, drive back to _Gilbert’s Bakery_ and handle the surveillance solo tonight. If he took option number two, he’d likely be worse than useless at work tomorrow. He decided that didn’t matter. Banks was probably already jonesing for another victim, and it was Harvey’s job to make sure he didn’t get the chance to find one. With a long-suffering sigh, he got up to leave the squad room. As he passed Louis, the other man opened his mouth, probably intending to spew more snark. Harvey pointed a finger at him. “Shut up,” he said.

Louis shut up.

Half an hour later, with Americano, two sandwiches and a box of Ding Dongs to keep him company, he sat in his car near the bakery and observed the patrol car assigned to watch Gilbert Banks during the day drive away. By the time he’d worked his way through one sandwich, three Ding Dongs and half of his coffee, the bakery had closed for the night and he’d followed Banks home and taken up his vigil there. Annoyingly, his car kept fogging up, and every so often he had to turn the key in the ignition halfway to defog the windows.

He put up a valiant fight against his jaw-cracking yawns and drooping eyes until three in the morning. His sleep deficit finally proved too much for him, however, and the next time he started to nod off, he couldn’t jerk himself back to wakefulness. His head lolled back, the wrapped snack treat he held fell to the floor, and his snores filled the car.

******

Mike closed and locked the door on the last customer at 2:10 a.m. It had been a slow night, with disappointingly low tips. He’d heard the story about free booze night about eighteen times and had been tempted to start watering down drinks out of pure spite. He hadn’t, though. At the moment he still harbored more spite toward Trevor than the idiot drunks who comprised his clientele.

He took a moment to savor the peace and quiet, and then went to the digital jukebox and brought up his playlist of classic R&B. The music lasted forty-five minutes, just about enough time to clean up the tables, stack all the chairs on top of the tables, get a load of glasses into the dishwasher, sweep and mop the floor, stuff his tips in his pocket, count his till, and lock the money in the safe.

The last song played as he was finishing up at 2:55. His shift officially ended at 3:00, so he poured himself a shot of whiskey and leaned against the bar while he sipped it and stared blankly at the far wall. Tonight had forcibly reminded him that this was not something he wanted to do for the rest of his life. As his thoughts went back to Vicki and Todd, he wasn’t sure he could handle the whole medium thing for much longer either. Not with clients like that, anyway.

Maybe he needed to figure out how to take it up a notch, get famous, move to Vegas, and do sold-out shows every night. He laughed to himself as he contemplated living in Sin City. He could bill himself as something like Michael the Magnificent. No. Just Michael. One name. Of course, he’d have to convince Marley to come with him, which was a depressing thought. Could the ghost switch geographical locations like that? For that matter, could Mike? Did he even want to?

He lifted his glass to drink. The scent of whiskey must have masked burnt paper and ozone. Rachel appeared in front of him, expression wild and panicked. He choked on his drink. When he’d finished clutching his chest and coughing, he finally tuned in to what she was saying.

“He fell asleep. He fell asleep. You have to do something.”

“Who fell asleep? What are you talking about?”

“Your detective.”

Mike wiped whiskey from his chin. “It’s three in the morning. I hope he’s asleep. I wish I was asleep.”

“No. You’re not listening. He was watching the man. The baker. But he fell asleep and he took off down a back alley.”

“Harvey’s sleep walking?”

“NO!”

A bottle of vodka crashed to the floor.

“Pay attention,” she yelled. “The baker is looking for his next victim, and your detective is fast asleep in his car. You have to do something. You have to stop him.”

“Me? How am I supposed to do that? I don’t know where he is, and I’m just … _me._ ”

“I’ll take you to him.”

“You’ll take me to the crazed killer with the big, scary knife?”

“To Harvey. I’ll take you to Harvey. He’s only a few blocks away.”

“And then you’ll lead us to the baker?”

“Yes. Yes. He’s on foot, and your detective has a car.”

“Stop calling him my detective.”

Another bottle wobbled on the shelf. Mike lunged for it and shoved it further back.

“Okay. You made your point. Can I grab my jacket without you poltergeisting me out of any more of my hard-earned wages?”

She didn’t reply, just flickered and reappeared in different spots around the bar like she was in a Japanese horror flick. With dread filling him, Mike shrugged into his jacket and followed her out of the bar.

******

Harvey woke with a start – and a snorting snuffle – as a blast of cold air hit his face. He automatically reached for the key, but found it in the off position, just as it had been when he’d dozed off. He shivered and rubbed his face, trying to orient himself. He was on his third consecutive night of staking out Gilbert Banks. His coffee was cold, he had a Ding Dong headache, and the goddamn windows were fogged up again. As he started to turn the key, words began to form in the condensation on the inside of the window.

_Banks is hunting._

He blinked rapidly, wondering if he was still asleep. More words appeared.

_Get moving Harvey._

A chill travelled and down his spine. “Marley?” he whispered.

_No shit, Sherlock._

“Uh. Oh. Okay. Where? Where is he headed?”

_South._

“Thanks, man.”

As the blowers hit the windows, the fog began to clear. Just before it was gone entirely, Marley wrote one final message.

_Your ass is fine._

Harvey nearly drove up onto the sidewalk before regaining control of the car and speeding south. He wondered if he’d get any more clues from Marley, or if he was on his own now. His left turn indicator turned on, seemingly of its own accord. He took the next left. This happened three more times – a left, a right, another right, and then he spotted his quarry half a block away. The sick feeling in his stomach eased somewhat as he saw that he was alone.

Banks turned into an alley between two buildings. He certainly seemed to like his alleys, thought Harvey. He parked the car and got out, careful to make as little noise as possible when he shut the door. Moving swiftly, he jogged to the alley entrance. Unholstering his gun, he held it in both hands, muzzle pointed toward the ground, and leaned his back against the building. He edged his head around the side of the building, peering into the shadowy alley. A single floodlight mounted on one of the building flickered sporadically, leaving most of the alley dark. No sign of Banks. He’d either ducked into a door that Harvey couldn’t see from here, or moved faster than Harvey had realized, and was getting away.

Harvey paused for a couple of seconds, waiting for another prod from Marley, but none was forthcoming. Inhaling a deep breath, he crept around the corner, gaze moving up, down, left, right, scanning for any sign of the killer. Two dumpsters were set in the middle of the alley, one green, the other blue, both positioned underneath the floodlight. He hurried past, checking each doorway and alcove that he passed.

Just past the dumpsters, he was back in the shadows. The creak of rusty hinges warned him, but he wasn’t able to dodge the blow completely. Before he could turn around, something heavy struck his head with a sickening crash. He dropped like deadweight, aware of the feel of muck underneath his cheek and the smell of rotting fruit. Moaning, feeling as if he wanted to vomit, he rolled sluggishly onto his back to find two dark forms standing over him, each with a length of two-by-four raised to strike again. Harvey blinked and the two forms briefly resolved into one before splitting again, like an amoeba undergoing instantaneous mitosis.

He fumbled for his gun, sitting and backing up until he felt the brick wall of a building behind him. “Freeze,” he gasped, pointing first at one of the forms, and then the other.

Before he had the chance to choose, the two-by-four swung at him in a deadly arc. He fired, but all he hit was the opposite wall as the wood struck him in the shoulder.

Both images of the dark figure laughed. Banks. It had to be Banks.

Harvey squeezed his eyes shut, opened them to discover the two figures had resolved into one. He rasped out, “You have the right to remain silent.”

That’s as far as he got before the wood swung again. Banks was holding it like a baseball bat now. Harvey lunged to one side and the wood struck the wall above his head. Harvey surged to his feet, wrapping his arms around Banks and holding on. Painful blows rained down on his back, but he didn’t let go. Banks didn’t have a good angle, so there wasn’t a great deal of force behind the blows. He did manage one painful blow to Harvey’s elbow which caused him to drop the gun. It skittered away, out of his reach.

“Anything you say,” Harvey grunted, “can be held against you in a court of law.”

“Fuck you.” Banks whacked him again and managed to get himself free. Instead of turning and fleeing down the alley, he took one step back and reached into an inner coat pocket, withdrawing a nine-inch serrated blade that glinted in the meager light.

“Will gutting you like the pig you are be held against me in a court of law?” he asked.

Triumph drove out most of the primal fear that shot through Harvey at the sight of the deceptively beautiful knife. “Ah, the Miyabi Birchwood from the Damascus Collection. I’m guessing.”

Banks stiffened and went still. “There’s no way you could know that.”

Harvey didn’t respond right away. He was busy eying up the distance to his gun, calculating the odds of reaching it before Banks lunged at him and sliced him open. With part of his brain, he was wondering where Marley had gone, and if the ghost was strong enough to drop a dumpster on Banks’ head. Evidently the ghost had more important places to be, so he would have to fight his way out of this on his own.

“You might be surprised about the things I know,” Harvey bluffed.

“Is that right? Well, in that case, I guess I’ll need to shut you up.” He began to advance on Harvey.

Harvey leapt for the gun.

******

“He’s gone,” Rachel exclaimed. “He was right here.”

Mike stood with hands on hips, surveying the block. There were plenty of cars parked on the street, but Harvey’s wasn’t one of them.

“Great,” he said. “I’ll never catch up to him on foot.”

He wasn’t especially surprised when Marley joined them, not flashing into view all of a sudden, but slowly materializing next to Mike, as if he didn’t want to spook him. “You need a car,” the ghost snapped.

“Well, I don’t have one. Even if I did, I can’t drive.”

“Can’t you call an Uber?” Rachel suggested.

Marley shook his head. “There’s not enough time. Harvey is in danger.”

_Shit._ That was not good. “Maybe if I started running.”

“No time,” Marley insisted. He flickered and reappeared next to a Honda hatchback. “This one’s unlocked. Hotwire it and get moving.”

“I can’t,” Mike growled, feeling his panic begin to spike. “Don’t you get it? I can’t drive. I can’t hotwire. I can’t do shit.” He walked around in an agitated circle, as if that would cause a solution to magically appear. “Seriously, Marley, what are we going to do?”

For once, Marley didn’t have a ready answer, snarky or otherwise. Mike paused to look closely at him. The ghost had a distinctly calculating look in his eyes.

“What?” asked Mike. “What are you thinking? Whatever it is, just tell me. I swear, if that guy hurts Harvey …”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“That’s a given with you. Just say it.”

“Give me your body.”

” _What?_ This is hardly the time – ”

“Mike. Give me your body. _Loan_ me your body. I know how to hotwire a car. I can drive. Harvey may be running out of time.” He waited a few seconds for a reply. “Now, Mike. If we don’t do this now, it might be too late.”

Suspicion warred with his sense of urgency. Mike glanced at Rachel, who had been silently observing the scene between them, biting her lip. Now, she nodded at him, indicating agreement with Marley.

“Oh, God,” muttered Mike, “please don’t let this be a mistake.” And then, to Marley, “You’ll give it right back?”

“Of course.”

Mike expelled a harsh breath and shook out his hands. “Okay. Okay. How do we do this?”

“You have to invite me inside. Then, just relax and let it happen.”

Nodding, Mike took several calming breaths, braced himself, and said, “I’m inviting you.”

“Be more specific,” urged Marley.

“I’m inviting you in. Inside me.”

The ghost continued to gaze at him expectantly.

“Damn it, Marley. Just do it. Please. Please come inside me.”

He had a quick impression of wicked glee in Marley’s eyes. Then something invisible and unbelievably powerful collided with him and pressed inside him in a dizzying rush. He felt hollowed out, disoriented. An ice cold _presence_ filled him. His own consciousness remained but was pushed to the side, relegated to a single tiny crevice. Every other bit of him, every cell and atom and subatomic particle was drenched in _Marley,_ except, no that wasn’t right. The name “Marley” wasn’t right. The thing that inhabited him wasn’t a sixty-something man who had died in 1972.

The thing … the entity inside him was much older than that. Eons older. How did he know this? It went beyond mere words. In that moment, they were connected. The entity knew everything about Mike. And Mike … he couldn’t comprehend much of what he was picking up, but two things were clear. This thing was ancient, and it was … ravenous.

It wanted … It _wanted …_

_Fuck._

Mike realized, as he shivered in his cold little corner, that what it wanted was Harvey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Another chapter. Two months since the last one. That's sort of a long time (for me), but it feels even longer. It feels like the world has changed since I posted the last chapter. I suppose it has. Sorry for the long wait. If you haven't read my sad little story on tumblr (or in the comments here), I won't bore you with it if you're not interested. It just took me a while to get my equilibrium back (such as it is). I'm trying my best to construct some routines (like writing every day again), so I don't just drift aimlessly in Forever-Quarantine-Land. Hopefully I can keep it up, and future updates won't take so long.

Harvey’s hand closed around the gun. Rolling, he came up on one knee, aiming and firing in one fluid motion. He hit Banks in his chest as he leapt toward Harvey, knife raised to strike. Banks staggered back, a hand clutched over his heart. Blood flowed thick and red between his fingers. The look of disbelief on his face lasted several seconds. Then his eyes glazed over and he was just … gone, crumpling lifeless to the ground.

Harvey rose to his feet, swaying slightly and breathing hard, trying to wrap his head around what had just happened. He was reaching for his phone, preparing to call it in, when another person entered the alley at a dead run. He raised his gun again.

“Harvey! Ohmygod Harvey. We heard the gunshot. Are you okay?”

Slowly, Harvey lowered his weapon. “Mike?” he said wonderingly. “What are you doing here? How did you –” Understanding dawned. “Marley sent you?”

“Yes, yes, Marley. We were so worried. Are you sure you’re all right?” His eyes flickered to the dead man. “You killed him, huh? That was probably a good call. The man was vile. And rest assured, I’ll back you up one hundred percent. I’ll say you were only defending yourself.”

“I was defending myself.”

“Sure. Absolutely. I’m not judging you. I believe you did the right thing.”

Mike seemed oddly casual and unconcerned by the sight of the dead man. Then again, considering his special gift, he’d likely seen plenty of dead people before.

A sudden wave of dizzy exhaustion hit Harvey and he slumped against the wall of the alley, eyes shut against the pain in his head. A strong hand clutched his shoulder.

“Babe, you’re hurt,” Mike murmured.

_Babe?_

“I’m fine. He got a couple of good hits in, but nothing serious.” His eyes flew open in surprise when Mike wrapped his arms around him, squeezing hard and resting his head against his shoulder.

“We were so worried.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that. We? Is Marley here right now?”

A crooked smile quirked Mike’s mouth. “Marley and Rachel helped me find you. They’re both gone now.”

Something occurred to Harvey, and his gaze flicked to the lifeless corpse of Gilbert Banks. “What about him? Is he, er, still here?”

Mike turned his head to follow Harvey’s gaze. “For the moment,” he said, voice emotionless. “No worries. He’ll be moving along soon.”

His arms tightened around Harvey and he pressed him against the wall. Harvey might have enjoyed the full body contact if his head wasn’t throbbing, and he wasn’t acutely conscious of the need to report the shooting. “I have to call this in,” he said as he struggled to free himself from Mike’s surprisingly strong grasp.

Mike held on for a few seconds longer, and then with obvious reluctance released him. “Is there anything I can do?”

Harvey held a rapid internal debate. According to protocol Mike should stick around and give a statement, but it would be hard to explain his presence here at this exact moment. The fact that he had been a suspect, however briefly, would only make his appearance more suspicious. Sending him away seemed the wiser choice, even though that decision could potentially backfire on Harvey if anyone could place Mike at the scene.

With his mind made up, Harvey got out his phone. “No. You need to leave. Now. I don’t think they will, but if anyone questions you later, you were home all night. Got it?

“Actually, I was at work.”

“Fine. You went straight home from work. You were never here.” When Mike didn’t immediately leave, Harvey brandished the phone at him. “Go. Now. If I wait any longer to make this call, it could raise red flags.”

“Okay, but … This won’t cause you any difficulty, will it?”

Harvey’s shoulders slumped as he thought about all the impending bullshit which would be triggered by the shooting. He’d be ordered to turn over his gun as evidence and would be placed on paid administrative leave for several days at least. He’d also be required to talk to a department psychologist and would be riding a desk until cleared to go back into the field. All because of the piece of human filth lying dead a few feet away.

He knew the shooting was justified and was confident that was how it would ultimately be judged. As he’d told Mike, it had been self-defense. It still felt as if he’d done something wrong. If he hadn’t let the guy get a jump on him, like some green rookie …

Impatiently, he dismissed that thought. It was a righteous kill. “No,” he said finally. “I’ll be fine, and so will you if you’ll do as I say and go.”

“You’ll come see me later?” asked Mike, eyes wide and pleading. “After you’re finished clearing this all up?”

Harvey hesitated. He shouldn’t. It had been a mistake to get involved with Mike that first time. He was still part of the case, peripherally at least. But the case was over, wasn’t it? The bad guy had been caught and shot dead. A case didn’t get much more closed than that.

“Please?” said Mike, looking impossibly appealing as he pouted and all but batted his eyes at Harvey, who sighed heavily.

“Yes. Okay. Fine. As soon as I’m able, I’ll stop by your apartment and fill you in on how things went. Now, scoot.”

Mike scooted, and Harvey dialed his phone and waited for the call to connect.

******

The next several hours were a special kind of torture for Mike. As he cowered in his tiny splinter of consciousness and observed Marley interacting with Harvey, he was helpless to communicate with him and let him know that it was Marley speaking to him, touching him, hugging him, and calling him “babe.” Neither could he warn Harvey about what Marley was planning to do to him.

Harvey would only assume it was Mike who had asked him back to his apartment, who would strip him of his clothes, and drop to his knees to wrap his lips around Harvey’s cock, or lower himself onto Harvey and ride him until they were both covered with sweat and screaming out their mutual pleasure.

Not that Mike would have minded doing any of that if it was just him and Harvey. Not surprisingly, the spirit’s intentions lined up with Mike’s quite well. Having Marley driving Mike without Harvey’s knowledge, though … everything about that was just … just _wrong._

He “heard” cynical laughter inside his head.

_“You’re such a sanctimonious little prude,”_ Marley informed him. “ _I’d snuff you out right now if I didn’t find you so amusing. I do enjoy your physical form, so it looks like we’ll be together for a good long while.”_

Mike hadn’t yet considered how long this might go on and had assumed Marley would release him once he’d gotten what he wanted from Harvey. Anxiety spiked through him as he began to understand just how deeply and fundamentally fucked he was. He tried to quiet his thoughts, to simply go dormant while he waited and observed and hoped for Marley to reveal a weakness or some way that Mike could evict him and get his body back.

******

Harvey was occupied with the fallout from his shooting of Gilbert Banks for the next several hours. Donna had little to say when she arrived at the precinct, beyond a terse congratulations for catching the killer. He suspected that she was feeling some guilt for abandoning him last night. He didn’t possess the energy to reassure her just then that everything was fine. Later, he’d make sure to let her know that he didn’t blame her, especially considering how everything had turned out.

He answered all the questions put to him by the investigators as honestly as he could, only deviating slightly from the truth to avoid mentioning either Marley’s assistance or Mike’s presence. He told them he’d remained awake the whole time and had followed Banks in his car when he saw him leave his apartment. They seemed satisfied with his version of events.

Captain Pearson finally sent him home around ten in the morning. She told him to take the next couple of days off, and that she believed he would be cleared of any wrongdoing by Internal Affairs, after which he would have to pass his psych evaluation. He figured that as long as he left out the part where a ghost had written him messages on his fogged-up window, he should pass the psych eval with flying colors.

By the time he left the building he was exhausted. The adrenaline spike which had kept him upright and moving had dissipated, and now he could barely keep his eyes open as he sat in his car with the engine running. He knew he should go straight home, grab a quick shower, and sleep for ten or twelve hours. He couldn’t forget the feel of Mike pressed against him, however, or stop staring at the text message that Mike had sent earlier.

_I’m horny and ready for you. Feels like it’s been forever. Centuries. Get your fine ass over here. NOW._

Harvey smiled down at his phone. What had happened to awkward, timid Mike? Well, no, he hadn’t been timid, exactly, just nothing like this forceful, demanding version of himself, who’d looked at Harvey like he wanted to suck his brains out through his dick. Or maybe suck his entire soul out. Which sounded fantastic, except that Harvey was so fucking tired. Being a healthy human male, he could almost certainly stay awake for one blow job, and when he woke up, they could go for round two. Now that he thought about it, this sounded like an excellent way to celebrate his closed case.

With his mind made up, he texted back his reply: _On my way._

******

Harvey gazed admiringly at the man who opened the door for him. Mike was dressed in sweatpants, an open robe, and no shirt. The pants rode so low they exposed his hipbones, and his already hard cock tented the loose pants. He smelled of too much cologne and held a glass of red wine in one hand. Biting his lower lip, he looked Harvey up and down, blue eyes smoldering.

“So glad you made it, babe,” said Mike, standing aside to let Harvey in. “Can I interest you in a glass of wine?”

Harvey laughed uncertainly. “It’s ten-thirty in the morning.”

Mike sketched an elaborate gesture with his free hand and walked into the living room. “But I haven’t slept yet. Technically, it’s still yesterday.”

“I, uh, don’t think that’s how it works.”

Turning languidly back to face Harvey, Mike took a sip of wine, winced, and sighed dramatically. He set the glass on the coffee table. “Just as well. That’s the best they had to offer at the bodega on the corner, and it’s utter swill. Such a disappointment. It’s been far too long since I’ve tasted a decent vintage.”

Harvey’s brow wrinkled. This was a different Mike than he remembered. Something seemed off about him, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. “I guess I had you figured for more of a beer guy,” he said, wondering if he’d made a mistake coming over here.

Shrugging, Mike advanced on Harvey, a wicked smile twisting his lips. “It’s not wine, or beer, or any other form of inebriant I’m craving right at this moment.” He placed a hand on Harvey’s shoulder and stroked slowly down his arm. Once again, he bit his lip. His eyes gleamed and his chest heaved with excitement. Harvey could feel the tremor in his hand. “It’s been so long …”

Harvey slipped a hand under the robe to hold Mike’s waist. His skin felt hot as a furnace. “It’s only been a few days.”

“Oh, but it feels like forever.” He surged closer, capturing Harvey’s mouth in a hard, demanding kiss, thrusting his tongue inside and forcing him backwards until Harvey’s thighs pressed against the arm of the couch. Seconds later, they toppled down, with Mike landing on top of him, still savaging his mouth as his hands seemed to move everywhere at once, loosening and removing his tie, tearing open the buttons of his shirt, and pushing shirt and jacket off his shoulders and down his arms, effectively immobilizing his upper body.

Harvey yanked his head to the side. “Mike,” he gasped. He’d meant to ask him to slow down, but Mike had unzipped his pants, and now his hand plunged inside Harvey’s underwear, grasping him and stroking him expertly. Harvey’s hips jerked up involuntarily and he thrust his cock into the circle of Mike’s hot palm. “Fuck,” he gasped, clumsily kicking off his shoes. “That’s good.” He managed to scoot back so that he was lying full length on the couch, with Mike stretched on top of him and his arms still trapped by his clothes. “That’s really good, but could we just ...” He struggled to free his arms.

Mike’s mouth trailed down his neck and bit the juncture of neck and shoulder. “Let me,” he panted. “Let me have you the way I want you. Just like this. At my mercy.” He licked Harvey’s skin, making him shiver. “Please,” he whispered. “Stop fighting me.”

Harvey was accustomed to being the one in control, but he couldn’t find any complaints about how Mike was making him feel. The touch of lips, tongue, teeth and hands were driving him wild. Being bound and trapped by his shirt and jacket added an edge of excitement he never would have expected. Not being one to shy away from new experiences, he gave in to Mike’s entreaties and forced himself to relax and just go with it.

Once Mike realized he was getting his way, he raised his head and smiled down at Harvey. There was something dark and dangerous in that gaze that made Harvey shiver and catch his breath.

“Suck me,” Harvey demanded – or meant to demand. The words emerged as more of a breathless plea.

Mike’s smile widened. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and inched his way down Harvey’s body until his mouth hovered over Harvey’s cock, which he still held in one hand. His tongue flicked out to lick the head, and his eyes rolled back in his head with an ecstasy which seemed far out of proportion to the current situation, enjoyable as it was.

After the first taste, Mike shuddered and whispered, “Sweet, merciful gods,” before taking Harvey into his mouth and suckling gently, with something that felt to Harvey like reverence.

This was nice – damn nice – but not what he wanted or needed right then. He longed to have his hands free so he could grab Mike’s hair or shove him down and force him to take all of him. This mild frustration lasted only a few moments, until Mike swallowed him whole, seemingly without effort.

For a second, Harvey couldn’t breathe, the pleasure was so intense. He managed a gasp, and then a groan, and moments after Mike slipped a finger inside him and stroked his prostate as his throat worked around him, Harvey’s orgasm ripped through him so fast and so hard that he bent his head back and roared his full-throated approval.

******

Impotent rage gripped Mike within his incorporeal prison. At first, he wanted to scream at Harvey, to let him know it was Marley, not Mike, touching him. As Marley worked his body and Mike observed how he responded to the expert touches, and listened to his wild, uninhibited cries, he began to wonder if Harvey would even care. He was getting what he’d come here for, served up by a being with vastly more experience than Mike possessed.

Then Harvey flipped him onto his back, and took hold of his cock, jerking him off while grinning lazily down at him. Mike could feel the pleasurable sensations, but they were distant and muted, filtered through Marley, who was clearly enjoying himself. Harvey’s gaze of lust-filled affection was directed at Marley, not at Mike. He tried to shrink his consciousness, to distance himself from the proceedings, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.

Unlike Mike (and Harvey, as it had turned out), Marley was not a screamer. Instead, he muttered endearments and imprecations, first in English, then French, then in some language Mike didn’t recognize. As he built towards his peak, he switched between languages.

“Yes, my sweet. That feels marvelous. So good. _Fuck._ Yes. You’re perfect. _Merde._ _Juste  
comme ça_. Faster. Oh, sweet _Eros, Himeros kai Pothos_. That is … _J'ai attendu une éternité_ ...”

He arched up, spilling hotly, and erupting in a prolonged string of babble that Mike couldn’t begin to interpret.

Through the kisses, embraces and clean-up that followed, Mike shivered (as much as a barely-there consciousness can shiver) with reaction, alternating between screaming and vomiting internally. The whole experience had been unimaginably traumatizing.

Any faint hopes he had of never having to go through that again were destroyed when Marley dragged Harvey into the bedroom, and they tumbled into bed together.

Harvey fell asleep first, arms wrapped around Marley/Mike, who lay on top of him and nodded off soon thereafter. Evidently, they were charging up for the next go-round.

Mike, meanwhile, remained wide awake, trying to regain command of his emotions. As the soft snores of the two sleeping forms filled the air, he finally managed to calm down, and as he did, it occurred to him that for the first time since Marley had taken over his body, they weren’t sharing their thoughts.

Which meant … what, exactly? Could this be the chance Mike had been waiting for? Was it possible to take back control of his body while Marley slept?

He didn’t know the answer to that yet. But he knew he had to try, and if he didn’t succeed, Marley would know what he’d attempted as soon as he woke up. After that, he might decide that Mike wasn’t so amusing after all, and snuff him out, just as he’d threatened he could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was that a long wait? I can't tell. What is time? What day is it?

Even setting aside his dubious “gift” for seeing dead people, Mike had always possessed a unique mind. This was mainly due to a flawless memory that had helped him in school, and at the card tables in Atlantic City until the casinos had sniffed out his special abilities and banned him. He had occasionally employed his memory as a parlor trick of sorts, a way to impress a lover or amuse his friends. All his life, people had labeled him a prodigy and a genius. He was supposed to be so talented, so smart.

Right now, none of that meant a thing, and didn’t appear likely to help him out of his current predicament anytime soon.

While Marley slept, Mike strove to focus his thoughts, to reconnect his consciousness with his physical body. If he’d held ownership of his body, it might have broken out in a sweat from his efforts. He concentrated on his left hand, the one that lay laxly on the bed next to Harvey’s hip, tried to lift it, to make even the tip of one finger wriggle or twitch. Nothing. It continued to lie there like a dead fish.

_Come on, hand,_ he scream-whispered, _it’s me, your owner. Do something. Move, god damn it. Move!_

The hand remained stubbornly inert.

Okay. If his body wouldn’t respond to his commands, maybe that meant his consciousness first had to edge its way back into his brain and kick out the trespasser. He exerted himself with aneurysm-threatening levels of intensity.

Again, nothing.

_Fuck,_ he muttered. _Get out, you bastard. Give me back what’s mine. Get out. Get out! GET OUT!_

_Mike._

He “froze” his thoughts, cutting them off in mid-rage-panic. Marley was awake.

_It’s no use, Mike. You can’t win. I’m here until I decide to leave, and not a moment sooner. Awake or asleep, it makes no difference. As long as I’m in control, you’re stuck right where you are, which is exactly nowhere. Nothing short of death will expel me, and you don’t want that, do you? The sooner you get used to it, the sooner you resign yourself to that incontrovertible fact, the easier this will be._

_Easier for who?_

Marley’s cynical laughter flooded Mike’s awareness. _Why, for me, of course. I’m the only one who matters here. Surely you’ve figured that out by now?_

Well, yes, it was finally starting to sink in. Marley had clearly been a self-centered ass from the first moment he had made himself known to Mike, but he’d assumed that had been a leftover personality trait from his years as an attorney. Like the fool he was, he’d put up with the spirit’s overbearing personality and the thousand and one ways he devised to annoy Mike, because he’d proven to be an asset in communicating with the dead, which translated to money in Mike’s pocket.

He’d managed to ignore all the clues, the myriad ways in which Marley was unlike any other ghost he had encountered. He could move through the veil, from one side to the other and back again, with seeming ease, and locate spirits to obtain information with lightning speed. Why hadn’t Mike thought to question those powers? Why hadn’t he questioned Marley’s motives? Some genius he’d turned out to be.

Now he was trapped and utterly impotent, which was bad enough. The extra-special slime cherry on top of the shit cake was Marley’s obsession with Harvey. Mike could understand that obsession, and shared it in his own normal, human way. Harvey hadn’t been harmed thus far, not really, but Mike feared where this all could lead. What if Harvey decided he’d had enough of Mike/Marley? Would Marley let him go? Or would he use some as yet unrevealed power to keep Harvey with him for his pleasure and erotic entertainment?

A new, sickening possibility occurred to Mike. What if Marley managed to trick Harvey into giving him control of _his_ body? Hopefully, Harvey was smarter than that. Mike should have been smarter than that, though, but he hadn’t been. If Marley targeted Harvey, Mike would get his own body back, but seeing Harvey trapped like that felt like too high a price to pay. It would kill Mike to see him subjugated in that way, even more than enduring it himself. Which … said something about the way that Harvey had gotten under his skin so quickly, but he couldn’t to dwell on that right now.

There was something else to consider which alarmed him as it occurred to him. What havoc might Marley wreak with access to a gun and a badge?

He could sense Marley’s amusement at his thoughts.

_Mike, you worry too much. I’m not going to go on a homicidal rampage. I’m a lover, not a fighter. I’m only here to have some fun. What’s the big deal?_

If Marley didn’t get it, if he couldn’t see the harm he was doing to Mike and especially to Harvey, how could Mike even begin to explain it to him? Despite the evident futility, he took a stab at it.

_People,_ he began, _that is, humans, tend to be somewhat particular about little things like autonomy and free will._

_You’re assuming I’m not human._

_Are you?_

_I might have been once._

_Might have?_

_Okay. Was. I was human once._

_How long ago was that?_

A pause, as Marley seemed to ponder the question. _It’s been at least a couple of millennia, but who’s counting?_

Astonishment shut Mike up for a few seconds. He wasn’t sure he wanted an answer to his next question, but he had to ask. _What are you now?_

A sensation both dark and electric seared its way along Mike’s phantom nerve endings.

_I am something you’d be best to obey, boy. And now, I’d highly recommend you shut up so I can sleep. This body of yours is good for a great many things, but human stamina is a design flaw over which I have little control. When I wake up, I’ll give you another demonstration of ways to optimize your fragile flesh._

A short pause.

I _f that wasn’t clear enough, I intend to fuck your dear Harvey’s brains out. And you, sweet boy, will once again have the privilege of a front row seat._

******

Harvey stretched and yawned and grinned lazily at the feel of Mike pressed intimately against his back. His hard cock nestled between Harvey’s ass cheeks. He arched and pressed back, rubbing against Mike, whose arms tightened around his middle. Squinting his eyes at the light slanting through the bedroom window, he estimated the time as mid-afternoon.

Harvey turned his head to find Mike gazing at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “Hello,” Harvey said, voice thick with sleep and hoarse from his screams a few hours earlier.

Mike smiled lewdly. He licked a damp stripe down Harvey’s neck and thrust suggestively. “Are you ready to go again?”

Harvey chuckled at his eagerness. “I need to fuel up first. Don’t forget, I have a few years on you.”

“I’m not as young as you think.”

“Yeah? Well, regardless, it’s been an exhausting few days. How about we order some food and relax for a bit?”

“You sure about that? You wouldn’t have to do a thing, just lie there while I fuck you.”

Harvey let out a startled bark of laughter. “You want to fuck me?”

Mike draped a muscular leg over Harvey’s, trapping him. His heavy cock rubbed against Harvey’s hip. “I absolutely do. Why? You’re not willing to switch things up?”

Was he? The idea didn’t thrill him, but he hated to deny Mike outright. “It’s not that. I just thought you enjoyed it the other way around.”

“I like it any and all ways.” Mike’s voice deepened as he spoke directly into Harvey’s ear, making him shiver. “Will you let me? I’ll make it good for you. You’ll scream until your voice is gone.”

“Ah. That’s …” Harvey hastily untangled their legs and sat up on the edge of the bed. “Like I said, I need food.” Mike’s brows lowered in what could have been disappointment or anger. “I’m fine with it. Just not right now. You can have me however you want, but after we eat.” Mike continued to stare at him, expression unreadable. “Or I could leave,” Harvey said, starting to grow irritated.

“No.” Mike grabbed his arm. “No, you’re right. We should definitely take our time. Now that you mention it, I’m ravenous as well.”

“Great.” Harvey glanced around the room. “Any idea what happened to my jacket?”

“It’s in the living room.”

“I’ll grab my phone and order us something. Do you like Italian?”

“Adore them.”

Harvey shot him a quizzical look.

“It,” Mike corrected. “The cuisine. I’m sure I’ll like whatever you order.”

Harvey got up to hunt for his phone.

******

Experiencing spaghetti carbonara through the filter of Marley was almost as weird as all the earlier orgasms. Mike would have preferred spaghetti and meatballs, or maybe a simple marinara, but no one had asked for his opinion.

_“Do you like Italian?”_

_“Adore them.”_

God, how cheesy could Marley be? How obvious?

As Marley and Harvey slurped and chewed their way through their dinner, Mike sulked in his corner. Only death would free him. That’s what Marley had said. Not much of a reveal, and not much help, since Marley was right. Mike didn’t want to die. Not yet.

Unless … If he’d had eyes, he might have narrowed them. Sometimes people died, but they didn’t stay dead. If he could arrange to have his body electrocuted, or maybe choked to the point of death, and then have somebody nearby to revive him, that might provide him the opportunity he needed. As a cop, Harvey must have been trained in the rudiments of first aid. If Mike’s body expired in a non-permanent way, Harvey might be able to keep the blood pumping through it, and oxygen circulating long enough for the EMT’s to arrive and bring him back. Meanwhile, Mike could take back control.

_Mike. You do realize I can hear every devious thought, right? I’ve explained to you that you can’t win, haven’t I? I’ve been at this a long time. No host has ever bested me, and none ever will._

_There’s always a first time for everything,_ Mike responded sullenly, not really believing his own brave assertion.

Marley laughed meanly. _Try me, by all means, but don’t make the mistake of believing that my patience is without limits._

Mike didn’t bother to respond. He settled in to watch and wait for an opening which most likely would never come.

The dinner dragged on, accompanied by copious amounts of wine. Mike would have welcomed a nice, strong alcohol buzz at this point, but he only felt the faintest echo of his body’s inebriation.

Harvey suggested they leave the dishes for later, and they retired to Mike’s couch to watch television while they digested their meal and finished off most of a second bottle of wine. An hour or so into the movie, Marley shifted to lay with his head resting on Harvey’s thigh.

Mike’s resentment ratcheted higher when Harvey dug his strong fingers into Mike/Marley’s hair and massaged his scalp. He tried to imagine how it might be without Marley here, how blissed out he would be to be experiencing this quiet closeness with Harvey. As it was, he was forced to observe from a distance as Marley received the attention that should have rightfully been lavished upon Mike.

Then Marley sat up and climbed into Harvey’s lap, knees straddling Harvey’s, and kissed him hotly. Harvey responded with instant and equal enthusiasm.

Mike wanted to throw up.

The kisses and caresses grew more passionate. Marley pulled back and grinned down at Harvey. “Get on your stomach,” he rasped.

“Maybe we should move this to the bedroom,” replied Harvey, sounding out of breath.

Marley shook his head slowly, his smile sharpening. “No.”

“No?”

“No. Right here. Right now.” He slid off the couch and manhandled a breathlessly laughing Harvey until he was lying face down on the couch.

“We’re really doing this, huh?” said Harvey, eyeing Marley over his shoulder. He sounded more apprehensive than turned on.

Marley planted one knee on the edge of the couch, thrust a hand underneath Harvey and went to work unfastening his pants. “What’s the problem? Is this virgin territory for you?” The idea seemed to excite him.

Mike’s virtual bile rose in his virtual throat.

“What? No. Of course not.” Harvey’s huff of laughter held a hint of self-mockery. “It’s just been a while. And frankly, it’s never gone all that well.”

Marley paused with his hand cupping Harvey’s naked bottom. “Did somebody hurt you?” he asked, a dangerous edge in his voice.

Harvey didn’t answer, seeming uncomfortable with the conversation. A pang of tenderness shot through Mike.

_Don’t do it,_ he urged Marley. _He doesn’t want this._ A moment later he was shocked when Marley actually listened to him.

“Harvey?” Marley knelt next to him, a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Appearing to pull himself together, Harvey nodded gamely. “Sure. Fuck yes. Let’s do this.” He folded his arms and rested them on the side of the couch. “I’m good to go.”

Marley hesitated, and then rose to his feet, holding his hand out to Harvey. “You had it right earlier. We should move to the bedroom. We’ll be more comfortable there.”

Harvey eyed him quizzically, seemed to think for a second, and shrugged. He took Marley’s hand and let himself be pulled to his feet. They remained silent as they walked together down the short hallway to Mike’s bedroom. The interruption had cooled their ardor. Awkwardness hung in the air as they each skimmed out of their clothes. They approached the bed from opposite sides, lay down, and met in the middle, separated by several inches. Marley rested his hand on Harvey’s waist.

“What do you want?” he asked softly. “Tell me what you want. What you really want.”

Harvey’s mouth twisted with humor, and Mike knew exactly what he was thinking, although he doubted Marley understood his inadvertent Spice Girls reference. Then Harvey grew serious again, considering the offer. “I want what you want,” he said. “I want you to fuck me.”

_I am in hell,_ Mike decided.

_Don’t come a-knocking,_ thought Mike, _if the bed is a-rocking._ And it was rocking. Was it ever.

To his credit (not that he deserved any), Marley had taken his time with Harvey, gently and carefully preparing him. Finally, when he had Harvey squirming and pleading – and then demanding – that he get on with it, Marley had pushed inside him, starting out slow, and gradually, over the next ten minutes or so, ramping up to this wildness, this ferocity that shook the bed and slammed the headboard against the wall in sharp, quick raps that vibrated through the room and would surely result in at least one anonymous, passive-aggressive note of complaint slipped underneath Mike’s door _._

Not that that had ever happened before (it had).

Marley gripped Harvey’s hips and drove into him with near violence, while Harvey grunted and gasped and finally howled his approval when Marley reached beneath him to stroke him off, fast and rough. They strove together, bodies in perfect synch. Harvey peaked first, burying his head in his folded arms, ass clenching and spasming around Mike/Marley’s cock as he screamed into the pillow.

Marley lifted his (Mike’s) head and bellowed at the ceiling as his entire body (Mike’s entire body) convulsed in waves of pure ecstasy. Mike was almost glad his own experience of the orgasm was muted, because if Marley’s reaction was anything to go by, the pleasure was almost too intense, too overwhelming. Marley’s voice gave out and he gasped for breath like a fish that had been tossed onto the shore. His eyes rolled back in his head (Mike’s head) and he collapsed, insensible against Harvey’s back.

_Oh, fantastic,_ thought Mike resentfully, _I’m stuck here watching the world’s freakiest live porn, and that asshole Marley gets to experience_ la petite mort.

He’d heard of this phenomenon, of course. He’d read about it in a couple of the steamy romance novels he’d borrowed from Jenny. He’d never been lucky enough to experience it himself, and had been skeptical about whether or not it was really a thing. Apparently, it was. Fucking Marley.

The little death. No, he wasn’t jealous at –

Wait. Back up.

If he’d had a pulse, it would have thundered in his nonexistent chest.

What had Marley said?

_Nothing short of death will expel me._

Did this count as death? He didn’t know, but he figured he had maybe a couple of seconds to find out. If he failed, he might not get another chance.

He tightened his phantom jaw, bared his phantom teeth, bent his phantom legs at his phantom knees, screwed up his courage and leapt, screaming like a banshee inside his phantom head.

******

Harvey had been luxuriating in the afterglow of perhaps the best orgasm of his life, when Mike began screaming directly into his ear.

“Fuck!” Harvey screamed back, startled, struggling to turn his head and get a better look at Mike. “What’s wrong? Did you throw your back out?” His heart pounded with alarm.

The screaming cut off abruptly. A second later, Harvey winced as Mike pulled out and collapsed onto his back, staring up at the ceiling and panting as if he had just finished an all out sprint. Which he sort of had. He’d been amazing, relentless, as he thrust into Harvey for what had felt like hours, but had been over far too soon. Unlike his past experiences bottoming, this had moved Harvey firmly into the pro-bottoming camp. He shivered again, as if he could still feel Mike inside him, filling him up and driving him inexorably out of his mind with pleasure.

“I, uh.” Mike shot a quick sideways look in his direction. “I’ll be right back.”

And then he was up and disappearing into the bathroom before Harvey could stop him. The door slammed closed behind him and Harvey heard the lock being engaged. He had appeared positively … spooked. By what, though? He’d clearly enjoyed himself every bit as much as Harvey, even seeming to lose consciousness briefly at the end there. Harvey had felt him collapse against his back as he pulsed hotly inside of him. Was Mike embarrassed about that? This made no sense at all.

“Something I said?” he asked the empty room.

There was no answer, of course, unless you counted the small lamp on the nightstand which suddenly tipped over and crashed to the floor.

Harvey stared down at it, frowning. He and Mike must have knocked it to the edge as they moved together, and it had just then overbalanced and fell.

Sure, that was probably what had happened. Still, a chill worked its way down Harvey’s spine. He stared warily around the room, wondering if they’d had an uninvited spectator.

No. Not possible. Mike would have said something.

A few minutes later, Mike returned, having disposed of the condom. He tossed a small towel at Harvey. If Harvey thought that he would climb back into bed with him, he was disappointed.

“You, uh, should probably take off,” said Mike.

Harvey blinked at him, incredulous. “You want me to go?”

Mike couldn’t seem to meet his gaze. “I really need to get some rest. I’ve got appointments lined up all day tomorrow.” He shrugged, giving Harvey a weak smile. “We could definitely do this again sometime. If, you know, you want to.”

Harvey was momentarily at a loss for words. Was this the same man that had been so eager earlier? He almost seemed like a different person. And what had that scream been about? What, exactly, was bothering Mike?

“Yeah,” said Harvey finally, “Sure. I’ll go. First, tell me, are you all right?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. You seem upset about something.”

Mike shrugged, obviously striving to appear unconcerned. “Well, I’m not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Harvey hesitated a moment longer, then shook his head and began gathering up his clothes, which lay scattered around the room. People reacted differently to intense sex, he reasoned. Some wanted to cuddle, some needed to withdraw and gain distance. Mike, it seemed, fit into the latter category. It was a shame. For a few frantic moments there, Harvey had thought they really had something.

Clearly, Mike did not feel the same way.

Harvey dressed quickly and let himself out without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.
> 
> I think one or two more chapters should wrap this up, depending on how long they are. 
> 
> I hope you are all safe and healthy out there in Reader Land.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I did not think it would take so long to finish this chapter. At the same time, I can hardly believe I finished it at all. I could say I decided not to let the perfect be the enemy of the good, but it's more like I didn't let the good be the enemy of getting the damn thing written.
> 
> Anyway. One quick note about a thing that might be confusing: There is a character named Marcus in this chapter who is not Harvey's brother. More on that in the end notes.
> 
> If you're still reading, thanks for your patience.

Mike paced agitatedly through his apartment, working off nervous energy while he searched for signs of Marley. He had been prepared for more than a busted lamp in retaliation for his victory over the spirit, and worried that he was hiding, waiting, plotting his revenge. So far, Mike did not see or sense him anywhere. It seemed that Marley had left the building, at least for now, unless he was still here, concealing his presence.

There was another, more alarming possibility.

As Mike considered this, he began to question his decision to kick Harvey out. What if Marley followed him home? What might he try? Marley couldn’t communicate with Harvey, not in anything more than a table-rapping – or table-flipping – sort of way. Getting him to agree to loan Harvey his body would require more than that. He’d need to employ a ruse, like he had with Mike. And although Mike suspected Marley had the power to cause physical harm to Harvey with or without a corporeal form, he’d pulled back earlier when he’d had the opportunity to really hurt him.

This rationale had him feeling marginally better, but he knew that Marley could strike back anytime and probably anywhere. It wasn’t enough to vow never to fall for the ghost’s trickery again, or to simply hope for the best. He needed a permanent solution to his Marley problem.

With all this running through his mind, he sat in front of his computer, fired it up, and navigated his way to Craigslist, where he entered “exorcist” into the search box. No results.

Next, he opened Google, typed in “how to find an exorcist,” and was advised by several websites of varying degrees of sketchiness that he should start by seeking advice from his parish priest, because apparently the Catholics believed they had a monopoly when it came to exorcisms. Well, what did Mike know? Maybe they did. Whatever the case, this was currently the best (and sole) lead he had.

Unfortunately, he only knew one priest. Following up on this lead meant a visit to Father Sam was in order. _Ugh_. They hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms. Mike had been an obnoxious little shit during his teenage years, continuing to act out long after his parents had died, and taking much of his residual anger out on the priest, as representative of the god who had clearly let him down by taking his parents away from him.

These days, it wasn’t that he was lapsed so much as disinterested in religion, as well as reluctant to face Father Sam again, even if nearly ten years had passed since their last encounter. He was fresh out of ideas for dealing with Marley, however, so he figured he’d have to suck it up and make a visit to St. Andrew’s the following morning.

The interior of the church smelled just as he remembered it, of dust and incense and guilt and lemon-scented furniture polish. He found Father Sam in his office, working on his computer. He half-rose out of his seat when he saw Mike, surprise showing clearly on his face.

“Michael. How long has it been?”

Mike hesitated, wondering if this had been a mistake, but sat in the chair on the other side of the desk. “A decade, give or take.”

He could tell the priest was curious about what had prompted the visit, but he remained silent, waiting Mike out. He’d rehearsed in his mind on the way over how to explain his problem, but now felt at a loss as to how to begin. He could count on fewer than the fingers on one hand how many people he’d confided in about his ability, and it had never gone well, at least not initially.

Might as well come straight to the point, he decided.

“Father, I have a ghost problem.”

The look of expectant curiosity on the priest’s face didn’t waver. “Are we talking metaphorically, or …?”

“Not metaphorically.”

“Ah.”

Mike didn’t hear any judgement or mockery in that “ah,” so he kept going.

“I, uh, never told you this, but after my parents died, I started seeing ghosts.”

A thoughtful nod from the priest. “It’s not all that uncommon to do what we must to keep the memory of our loved ones firmly in our hearts and minds.” He paused, a frown pulling at one corner of his mouth. “But you say this isn’t metaphorical. Why don’t you tell me about these ghosts?”

Mike gave him a wary look, wishing he was more skilled at reading people. Was Father Sam humoring him? Probably, but at least he hadn’t laughed him out of his office at the first mention of ghosts. He forged ahead. “It started with my dad. Then there were others. Lots of others. Usually they talk to me. I talk to them. Occasionally I help them with unfinished business and then convince them to cross over.”

A crease appeared between Father Sam’s eyebrows, but he was quiet for a moment as he appeared to mull this over. “What is it that you want from me, Michael?” he finally asked.

“Do you believe me?”

“Validation? That’s why you’re here?”

Mike nearly laughed at this. “If I needed validation for something I already know to be true, the last person I’d come to is you. No offense.”

Father Sam chuckled softly. “Still got that chip on your shoulder, I see.”

Mike started to shake his head, intending to deny it, and then stopped. Maybe Father Sam was right about that, but it didn’t matter right now. “Look,” he said, “I did some things back then – said some things – that were probably out of bounds. I get it. I was an asshole.”

“You were an angry and confused teenager.”

Mike took a moment to digest that. “Okay. And now I’m an angry and confused adult. It could be I’m making progress, because I’m no longer angry at you, or at the church.”

Father Sam leaned back in his chair, eyes sharpening with interest. “Tell me who, then.”

Mike’s hands curled into fists. “There’s this one ghost. Maybe he’s a demon. I don’t know what the definition of demon is, but he’s just … awful. He claims to have been around for millennia, that he was once human. And he’s powerful, and … and …” He shut his eyes, jaw clenching as revulsion washed through him once more at the memory of Marley using him to fuck Harvey. He shuddered.

“Michael?” Concern filled his voice. “What did this ghost – or demon – do?”

Mike reddened, unwilling to discuss his sex life with a priest. “You’re just going to have to take my word for it. This spirit is no good. It’s …” He frowned, searching for the right word. “Malevolent. It’s malevolent. Powerful, like I said. Sneaky.” He lowered his voice, even though he knew it would do no good if Marley was around. “He could be here right now, listening to everything we say.”

Father Sam sighed, his patience appearing to fray. “I’ll ask you again: what is it that you want from me?”

“I’ve got to get rid of this ghost. If I don’t, he could do it again.”

“What are you talking about. What did he do?”

“He hurt someone. Someone I care about.”

“Hurt them how?”

Mike expelled a harsh breath. “Okay, he didn’t actually hurt him. Not physically. He almost did, but I talked him out of it.”

Father Sam shook his head, brows furrowed. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“He … deceived him, made him believe I was the one who …”

“The one who what?”

Mike surged to his feet in frustration. “I don’t want to talk about it. All I need from you is a name.”

“A name?”

“Of an exorcist.”

A short, dense silence. “And you think I can give you that?”

“Can you? I Googled it, and the consensus was to consult a priest. So, I’m consulting you. Yes or no? If you can’t help me, tell me right now so I don’t waste more time.”

“Michael, this isn’t something the Church – ”

Mike held out a hand to stop his words. “That’s all I need to know. Sorry to have bothered you.” He turned to go.

“Wait. Let me finish.”

Mike turned back, one hand still on the doorknob.

“What I was going to say was, this isn’t something the Church likes to publicize, but in fact there are trained exorcists within the priesthood.”

The relief that filled Mike at this admission nearly made his knees give out. “Great. Good to know. Give me a name, and I’ll get out of your office.”

Father Sam’s mouth tightened. “I’m not sure what you’ve described to me rises to the level of requiring an exorcism. In fact, you’ve been quite vague. Perhaps counseling would be more in order. We could set up a weekly appointment. If you don’t want to talk to me, I can recommend a number of professionals who –”

“He possessed me.”

The priest gaped at him.

“You heard me right. The ghost, or spirit, or demon, or whatever the fuck he is, tricked me into letting him take control of my body. And then he … did things.”

Father Sam pushed his chair back several inches, as if he didn’t want whatever was infecting Mike to touch him. Mike could see a pulse beating in his temple. “Things which you refuse to tell me.”

“Right.”

“Were any laws broken?”

Mike had to think about that for a few seconds. “Not … exactly.”

“Michael?”

“No. It was … not cool, but not actionable. Probably not.”

“Your evasiveness isn’t exactly easing my mind.” He narrowed his eyes at Mike. “Is he possessing you right now?”

“What? No. I managed to get control back, but I need to banish him, get him out of my apartment and out of my life. So, either tell me I’m crazy and send me packing, or give me a goddamn name, because I don’t know what he’ll do next, and that scares the shit out of me.”

The look Father Sam gave him was long and unblinking. Finally, seeming to come to a decision, he opened a desk drawer, reached into the back, scrabbled around for a few seconds, and pulled out a key. He swiveled his chair to a two-drawer file cabinet that stood in the corner of his office, nearly obscured by a sprawling philodendron. After unlocking the top drawer, and pushing glossy leaves out of the way, he opened it and spent a few minutes finger-walking his way through the files crammed inside. Eventually, he tugged out a manila folder with what appeared to be a typewritten label that was hanging halfway off.

He set the folder on his desk, rested his clasped hands on top of it, and eyed Mike.

“Before I give you a name, I need your word that this is a sincere request. If I share this with you and it turns out this is some childish prank, I’ll likely face disciplinary action from the archdiocese. Do you understand?”

Walking back to the desk, Mike put both hands on the edge, leaned in and stared at Father Sam. “Does this look like the face of someone who is pulling a prank?”

Their eyes remained locked for several seconds. Then the priest dropped his gaze, opened the file, and copied a name and phone number onto a post-it note, which he handed to Mike. “It’s an old number, but it should still work. Father Marcus has a few years on him as well, but last I heard he was still fighting the good fight.”

Mike looked down at the post-it. “What, no website? No email address?” He was only half-joking.

“This is serious business,” Father Sam said sternly. “Marcus does not suffer liars, so think long and hard on that before you dial that number.”

Mike nodded once. He had what he needed (he hoped), and there was nothing left to say, so even though he’d already memorized the phone number, he tucked the post-it note in his pocket and left the church.

******

Harvey jackknifed upright in his bed, drenched in sweat and gasping for air. The nightmare that had gripped him shredded, leaving behind only half-remembered images of shifting shadows and a deep, roiling sense of dread. He took a few moments, breathing evenly and waiting for his pulse to slow. Although it was still early – barely five o’clock – he got out of bed and went to the kitchen to make coffee.

He was on leave from work while the investigation into the death of Gilbert Banks continued, and he had nowhere he needed to be. The next few days stretched out in front of him like a disconcertingly blank canvas. What was he supposed to do with himself? His desk duty and department mandated counseling wouldn’t begin until next week.

He’d held a fleeting hope yesterday that he might be lucky enough to spend a significant chunk of time before then with Mike, sleeping, fucking, eating, watching movies, getting to know one another better. Clearly that last item on the agenda should have been addressed before they’d hooked up the first – and the second – time.

After a brief deliberation, he decided that a run through the park might be just the thing to clear his head of the last vestiges of the nightmare and settle his low-level anxiety. He changed into sweats and running shoes and set off down the sidewalk, thinking as he went.

Yesterday he’d experienced some of the most spine-melting, brain-exploding sex he’d ever had, but he couldn’t shake the notion that something had been off about it. Something had been off about Mike. The whole thing had felt … weird.

First, Mike had surprised Harvey with his sudden insistence on taking the lead. Had Harvey been that far off the mark in his reading of him? And that wasn’t really the issue, the flipping of roles. Mike had proven to be remarkably skilled at bringing Harvey pleasure. No complaints there. An exceedingly good time had been had by all.

And yet.

Their first time together, Mike had been enthusiastic but a bit awkward. This time, his expert touch had communicated a depth of experience which had not been apparent before. He knew things … _did_ things. Had he been acting the first time?

Harvey swerved to avoid a woman on roller skates as he considered the puzzle. Was it possible that Mike had been a professional at one time? That would explain the expertise. Perhaps he had not initially wanted to … what? To alarm Harvey? To scare him off by admitting his past? Or he’d feared Harvey might be repelled by the notion of involvement with an ex-sex worker? Assuming the “ex” even applied.

Harvey wasn’t that sort of man, or at least he didn’t like to think he was. He’d run into his share of hustlers and sex workers in his line of work. There were even a few he’d come to consider friends. Becoming involved with one was different, though.

Shaking his head, he acknowledged the leap he’d taken. He wasn’t convinced that Mike was a professional, but honesty required he admit that he might not have gotten involved with him if he had been. And that made him laugh out loud – drawing a few startled glances from passing runners – because he hadn’t hesitated (not much, anyway) to get involved with a … a what? Medium? Ghost whisperer?

He increased his pace as he ran past the reservoir, letting the rhythmic thud of his feet on pavement calm his thoughts. The release of endorphins to his brain brought a measure of clarity, and he realized that what really bothered him was how poorly he’d read Mike. He must be slipping. His success at his job depended on him being able to read people accurately. In Mike’s case, he’d failed miserably.

Was he making more out of this than he needed to? So, the person he’d initially been attracted to had behaved in an unexpected manner. Unexpected wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, right? Mike had been through a lot in the past week. Maybe he’d just felt the need to exert his control after all that. The truth was, switching it up had been good for Harvey, too.

There was more to his unease than the roles they’d taken in bed. He couldn’t forget the odd shivery feeling of being watched, but where Mike was concerned, with the ghosts that attached themselves to him, that was likely to be a real possibility. Would he ever get used to that?

Part of him thought he should probably let it go, not contact Mike again, and write it off as just an interesting experience. At the same time, he wanted to see where things with Mike might lead. He hadn’t been this intrigued by a partner for a very long time. What with all the ghosts and hot sex, it promised nonstop entertainment. He couldn’t forget though, how abruptly Mike’s demeanor had changed after they’d finished, how he had practically thrown Harvey out of his apartment.

Mike had expressed an interest in seeing Harvey again. Lukewarm interest, it had seemed, but interest nonetheless. Perhaps a third time together would answer all his questions and make clear whether or not he should be running as fast as he could in the other direction. Yes, he’d take a chance and go see Mike and just ask him straight out if he was interested in anything more than what they’d already shared.

He made the turn at the top of the reservoir, following the curving path, and picked up his pace as he sprinted toward home.

******

“Hello.” The deep voice on the other end of the phone sounded cautious, if not blatantly suspicious, giving little else away.

“Father Marcus?” asked Mike.

A pause. “Just Marcus now. Who gave you this number?”

“I …” Mike didn’t want to get Father Sam in trouble, but he could already tell it would be an uphill battle to gain Marcus’ trust. “Someone in the Church gave it to me.”

“Hm.” Silence stretched. Mike could almost hear the other man thinking, trying to figure out how to handle this stranger. Mike waited him out. After nearly a minute, Marcus sighed loudly, sounding annoyed, resigned and unutterably weary. “Is this in regards to you, or someone you know?”

“Both. Well, mostly me and this complete asshole of a ghost.”

“A ghost?”

“Yes. A ghost.”

“I see.” Marcus sighed again. “Look – what did you say your name was?”

He hadn’t. “Mike.”

“Okay. Mike, I’m assuming you convinced whoever it was that gave you my number that you were sincere. I don’t know you. Maybe you are sincere in your belief, but I don’t deal in mundane hauntings. I’m an exorcist. My mission is to cast demons out of the possessed. It’s dangerous, messy, terrifying work. You don’t sound possessed. If this alleged ghost is causing static on your television, or knocking dishes onto the floor, your best bet is to contact a medium.”

“I am a medium.” Mike winced at the exasperated grunt Marcus let out.

“Well, there you go. Get yourself some salt, or sage, or whatever the fuck your sort use to clean house and take care of him.”

“But the thing is, he could be a demon. I don’t know for sure. He’s extremely dangerous, and … and super horny.”

Marcus groaned. “I don’t have time for this.”

Fearing Marcus was about to hang up on him, Mike blurted, “He possessed me.”

A couple seconds of silence. “I don’t believe you.”

“But he did. He tricked me, got inside me, and then did … things, and I couldn’t stop him.”

“What do you mean he tricked you?” Marcus sounded marginally more interested now.

“Well, he told me he needed my permission to take control, and of course I wasn’t about to give that to him, so he, er, engineered a scenario where I would agree to it.”

“Okay, now I know you’re lying. Demons do not require your permission to possess you. They do what they want, take what they want. They don’t tap you on the shoulder and say, ‘please, sir, may I step inside your skin?’”

“That’s not –”

“If you’re done wasting my time …”

“No, wait. Don’t hang up. It’s true I don’t know shit about demons, and the only thing I know about ghosts is that they’ve been hanging around me for most of my life.”

“Right. You see dead people.” Marcus stated it flatly, with a hint of wry humor.

“Yes. I told you I was a medium. I see them, talk to them, sometimes help them through the veil.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Mike started talking faster, almost stumbling over his words. “And I don’t know all the rules about them. It’s been sort of learn as you go, but I could tell right away that this particular one was different. He claimed he died in the 1970’s, but later told me he was much older. He can come and go at will, across the veil and back again. If I needed answers from another spirit, he could get that for me in an instant. When I asked him how long he’d been around, he said he’d existed for more than two thousand years. I’ve never met a ghost as old as that. Not even close. I asked him if he was human and he said he was once. _Once_. So, what does that tell you?”

“Evidently ghosts lie as much as the living.” Marcus paused. Mike assumed he was about to end the call, but instead he asked politely, “Anything else?”

Mike thought quickly. “Yes. When he was … well, never mind what he was doing, but he started speaking a couple of different languages. I think one was French. I don’t know what the other one was.”

“I don’t suppose you can remember what he said?”

“Yes! I can do that.” Squeezing his eyes shut, Mike called the words up in his mind. “Um, something like, ‘ _Merde._ _Juste comme ça_.’ That’s the French, obviously. And then, uh, _Eros, Himeros kai Pothos_. And then some more French.”

Marcus cleared his throat. When he spoke again, he sounded amused. “Mike, what exactly was happening when he spoke those words?”

Mike blushed, grateful no one was there to see him. “I’d, uh ... Is that even relevant?”

“Are you familiar with Eros, Himeros and Pothos?”

“Not really. Eros sounds like love, or desire or something. The Three Musketeers of Love, maybe?”

Another sigh gusted through the phone. “Jesus. The education system in this country is truly appalling. Eros, Himeros and Pothos, known collectively as the Erotes, derive from Greek mythology. They are different manifestations of love, sexual desire and passion.”

“Oh.” Mike blushed again, remembering Harvey with his hand wrapped around his cock when Marley gasped out those words. “Yeah, that tracks.”

Marcus fell silent. Mike held his breath, waiting for his decision. Finally, he spoke again. “Assuming you’re being truthful with me, it does appear as if you may have something unique on your hands. Whether or not I can help you is an entirely different question, but I’ll admit I’m mildly intrigued. Here’s what I’ll do. I’m in New York for a few days and I could use a place to stay. Let me sleep on your couch for a couple of nights and I’ll look into your problem for you. I’m not promising anything, but if this entity does turn out to be demonic, I’ll do what I can to get rid of it for you.”

Mike was so relieved he could have passed out. Instead, he stuttered his thanks, gave Marcus his address, and hung up before either of them could change their mind. He stared at his phone, nervous, half-hysterical laughter bubbling up out of him. Had he really just invited a complete stranger to stay with him? Well, it couldn’t be any worse than an uninvited ghost, right?

As if to prove his point, a picture hanging on the wall slid to the floor with a crash and a tinkle of breaking glass. Mike’s heart sped up, thudding inside his chest. No ghost appeared, but he knew who it was.

“Enjoy it while you can, asshole,” he whispered to the empty room, “because your days with me are numbered.” He hoped it was true. His defiance was mostly bravado and his entire body clenched in anticipation of more to follow. Nothing else happened, but he couldn’t relax yet, not until Marley was gone for good.

Then what? What about Harvey? Would he be safe from Marley? If the spirit was exorcised from Mike’s apartment, did that mean he was gone entirely? He didn’t know, but it seemed doubtful. He would have to find a way to get Marcus over to Harvey’s place.

This would require having a conversation with Harvey and admitting what had happened. Any chance of a future with Harvey would likely not survive that conversation. It surprised Mike how much that notion hurt, how filled with regret he was thinking of it. They’d known one another such a short time, but already Harvey seemed like everything he hadn’t known he’d been looking for.

Recalling that he was about to be welcoming a visitor, he gazed around the living room with a critical eye. It was messier than usual, but not terrible. He’d improved his housekeeping habits when he began bringing clients into his home. He eyed the fallen picture and considered leaving it where it was as an example of what the ghost could do, but then concluded that Marcus might assume he’d broken it himself in an attempt to deceive him.

He cleaned up the glass, leaned the picture against the wall, and sat on the couch to await the exorcist’s arrival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Father Marcus (now just Marcus) is a character from the recent tv show The Exorcist, because, why not? I enjoyed the show, once thought about writing some Marcus/Whoever fic (probably Peter) but never followed through. 
> 
> I'm not going to make any more promises or predictions about when I'll get the next chapter done. I won't quit on you, though. We're getting close to the end. Probably two or three more chapters to go? I've also got two auction fics I owe to some people by the end of the year which I need to get going on. I used to be able to juggle a few fics at once. I'm going to try to do it again.
> 
> Hope you are all safe and healthy. If you're not in the U.S., you probably are! *nervous laughter*
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been five whole months, but I'm finally back with another chapter of this thing. My writing brain seems to have an "out of order" sign hung on it most days, but I managed to move the story along. I'm going to optimistically say that I may have another chapter ready before the end of the year. And then, once the clock strikes midnight on December 31, everything will magically get better, right? Or maybe that's not until January 20. Whatever. Have at it.

Sauntering around Mike’s apartment, the exorcist scrutinized every element as if seeking clues to Mike’s character and whether his story could be believed. Marcus Keane was probably in his fifties, with a lean body and face, handsome in a toughened piece of gristle sort of way, with close-cropped hair and blue eyes that didn’t miss a thing. He wore faded jeans, a grey sweatshirt, leather jacket, black fedora, and dilapidated Doc Martens. 

After he’d made two circuits of Mike’s living room, he stopped next to the “séance” table and aimed his incisive gaze at Mike. “Is the ghost here right now?” he asked, his British accent close to a purr.

Mike shook his head. “The last sign of him was a picture that fell to the floor.”

“How do you know it was him?”

“You get a sense of these things after a while.”

“Because you’re a completely honest and authentic medium?”

“I like to think so.”

“Right.” Marcus smiled sourly and reached underneath the table, unerringly finding the button that released a puff of air. None of the fake candles were currently turned on, so the effect was lost, but he’d made his point. “How very authentic.”

“Sometimes I find it helpful to use special effects to enhance the atmosphere. My clients respond to it. Doesn’t mean I’m lying about Marley.”

“Ah, yes. Marley. The alleged ghost.”

“Who might also be a demon. And who possessed me.”

“Do you have any yogurt?”

“What?” Was yogurt some defense against spirits of which Mike was unaware?

“Yogurt. Preferably organic. I’m going to need sustenance before I get started debunking – or not – your story.”

“Sorry. No yogurt. I can offer you cereal with milk, cheese puffs, a frozen burrito, or toast. Oh, wait. I think the bread’s gone moldy, so scratch the toast.”

“Not much of a host, are you? No pun intended.”

“Hilarious.” Mike mentally counted the cash he had on hand. He’d made a little money in the last few days but needed most of it to pay his rent. Speaking of which, the first of the month had already come and gone without him noticing. What was today? The fifth? The sixth? He was surprised Mrs. Gadley hadn’t dropped by to harass him yet.

“There’s a bodega a ten-minute walk from here,” said Mike. “I need to drop off my rent anyway. If you promise to still be here when I get back, I’ll run out and grab you some yogurt. Anything else you need?”

“How’s your tea supply? I’ll take something dark and strong. Maybe some raw almonds. That’s it for now. After we’re done with our business, I’ll want sandwiches and beer. Are you good with all that?”

Not really. “Uh, sure.”

“Take your time. I’m going to grab a little shuteye while you’re gone.” Marcus sat on the couch, frowned as if evaluating its level of comfort, pried off his boots, stretched out with his fedora covering his face and his coat draped him.

“Make yourself right at home,” Mike muttered. He dug his envelope of cash out of the desk drawer and stuck it in his back pocket.

Down on the first floor, he knocked on Mrs. Gadley’s door. It opened so fast, she must have been waiting behind it, peering through the peephole. Holding the edges of her bathrobe together at her throat, she thrust out a hand, palm up.

“About time,” she rasped in her smoker’s voice. “I didn’t have to traipse up those stairs, so I won’t charge you the late fee. This time.”

Mike counted out the amount due, aware of her avid gaze on him. When he was done, he held out the pile of cash and she snatched it out of his hand. Before she could slam the door in his face, his foot shot out to block it.

“I’ll need a receipt,” he reminded her. They’d done this little song and dance before, but she still grumbled to herself as she disappeared inside her hoarder’s warren and came back with a scribbled note verifying that he’d paid her. He didn’t get the chance to say thanks before she shut the door in his face.

His headed outside and down the sidewalk, enjoying the cool, brisk wind on his face. Clouds massed overhead, but he judged that the rain would hold off for another half hour or so. Evening was falling, creating shadowy pockets in the doorways he passed. The drug dealer’s ghost didn’t appear tonight. Neither did the elderly woman who had collapsed and died in the crosswalk three months ago. They must have finally moved on.

At the bodega, he carefully added up in his head each item he placed in his cart. Half a dozen yogurts for Marcus. Almonds, tea, frozen taquitos for himself, a six-pack of cheap bear, a loaf of bread, sliced meat, cheese. The cashier eyed him curiously when he set his basket on the counter.

“You feel that?” asked the man.

“No.” Mike glanced around the store. “Feel what?”

“The heaviness in the air. Real weird. I’m guessing it’s getting ready to storm.”

The guy was a regular Al Roker. “If you say so.”

The cashier began ringing up Mike’s purchases, moving so slowly and deliberately that Mike began to worry that Marcus would finish his nap, grow impatient and leave. Rumbles sounded from the sky every so often. A single flash of lightning lit up the store’s window.

“What’d I say?” asked the cashier. “Buckle up. It’s going to be a rough night.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Mike forked over nearly all his cash, took his bag and headed out the door.

******

In the shower after his run, Harvey rinsed off and rehearsed in his head what he would say to Mike when he saw him next. A cloud of steam surrounded him, reminding him of the windows of his car, and a message written by a ghost. He shook his head, still amazed by the events of the last few days.

“Is this all even real?” he mused quietly.

Despite the heat in the shower, a chill ran down his spine as letters began to appear on the steamy shower door.

_Yes._

“Marley?”

_The very same._

“Ah.” He turned off the shower. “Let me just grab a towel.”

_Why? You’re beautiful._

“What are you doing here?” He snatched a towel from a hook near the shower door but stayed inside so he could continue to communicate with the ghost.

_Mike needs you._

Alarmed, Harvey asked, “Is he in danger?”

_Too much to write._

“Sorry, buddy. I can’t hear you or see you, like Mike does. This will have to do.”

_I can speak if you say yes._

“What? What does that mean?”

_Say yes and find out._

After a brief internal debate, Harvey’s cop instincts overcame his misgivings. Mike was in some unknown danger and he needed more information in order to help him.

“Yes,” he said. “Whatever. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

He stepped out of the shower, gave himself a few swipes of the towel and began pulling on his clothes. He had his pants on and one arm in the sleeve of his shirt when it happened.

Something immeasurably powerful slammed into him, pushing clumsily at his skin like a drunk trying to make it through a door that suddenly seemed too small. An instant later, the thing, whatever it was, barged through the “door” and invaded him completely. With that one unthinking word of assent he’d uttered, that casual _yes_ , he’d created an opening and what rushed in was as huge as a galaxy and powerful as a million thunderstorms. It crackled and burned through him, driving out nearly every fragment of Harvey Specter and replacing it with a presence, an enormous, all-encompassing consciousness that spread inside him like a choking cloud of otherness, smothering everything Harvey, leaving only a fading awareness that he’d been conquered and would soon be obliterated.

_What are you,_ he silently asked the ancient, angry _thing_ that had taken him over. _What do you want?_ But he didn’t need an answer. In the first instant of possession, he knew everything about the invader, what it was, its history, what it had done to Mike, and what it had done to him.

The voice sounded inside his mind, jangling like a thousand different voices overlaid and speaking at once: _We’re going to take a ride. I am going to teach Mike Ross the price of defiance. And you will bear witness._

Harvey experienced only the briefest moment of horror before, mercifully, his thoughts were extinguished, and he plummeted into dark emptiness.

******

Mike made a dash for it the last few yards to the door of his building as lightning flashed overhead and a boom of thunder followed soon after. He didn’t hear the roars of anger or command or whatever they were that ricocheted down the stairwell until he was halfway to the third floor. When he realized the sounds were coming from his apartment, he broke into a run, the bag of groceries bumping against his leg.

His front door stood open. Marcus’s already recognizable British accent rolled through the door and into the hallway. For long moments, Mike could only stare. Harvey faced off with Marcus, a gun held casually in one hand. He wasn’t aiming it at Marcus, which Mike chose to interpret as a hopeful sign.

Moving slowly, so as not to startle anyone, Mike set the bag on the floor and closed the door. “Harvey,” he said in a low voice, “it’s okay. I invited him here. Please put your gun away.”

Harvey’s gaze swung towards Mike. The body was undeniably Harvey, but something ancient and alien now resided behind Harvey’s eyes. His wide mouth twitched into a cruel smile, and Mike just knew.

“Marley?” Mike whispered.

“Stay back,” warned Marcus.

Mike ignored him. “Just put the gun down. We can talk about this. Leave Harvey alone. Get out of him and I’ll do whatever you ask.”

“Oh, it’s a little late for that, don’t you think?” purred Harvey/Marley. “I’m very angry with you, Mike.”

“For what? Taking back what belonged to me?” He held out his hands as Marley advanced on him. “Calm down. We’re just talking here, right? You don’t want Harvey, not like that. He’s much stronger willed than me, much harder to possess.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. Compared to you, he’s quite docile. He took surprisingly little convincing to let me in. I’ll wager I could have possessed him by force, no permission required. And now? I can barely feel or hear him at all. You, on the other hand, would not shut up.” His gaze flicked to Marcus, who was standing off to the side, appearing to assess the situation, or perhaps waiting for the right moment to intervene. “You brought reinforcements. Care to introduce me?”

“Uh. Marley, meet Marcus Keane. Marcus, this, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, is Marley, currently residing inside of Detective Harvey Specter.”

“Why is he here?” asked Marley. He gazed blandly at Mike, as if he already knew the answer.

“Why? I have a pest problem. Think of him as an exterminator.”

“That’s not nice, darling. I will not be the one exterminated. I have plans for you, which can either be pleasant or not, your choice. Marcus Keane may leave, if he wishes to live. Otherwise, he will die, screaming and bloody.”

Marcus stepped in front of Mike, partially shielding him from the demon.

“Tell me your name,” said Marcus, unrattled.

“Weren’t you listening? My name is Marley.”

“Tell me your true name.”

“Fuck me, you are a tedious extermination man. Fine, not that it will mean anything to you, but my birth name was Vaggeroth.”

“How old are you?”

Vaggeroth shrugged. “A few thousand years perhaps? What does it matter?”

“Where were you born?”

“Somewhere. I don’t remember. It was hot, wind blew day and night, and the god of our city was weak. He could not protect us. Food was scarce. Plague came and weakened us. Then the soldiers arrived, burned our city to the ground, made us into slaves and took us away.” His dark gaze moved between Marcus and Mike. “My masters were cruel. You cannot begin to imagine the ways in which they used me, breaking me in mind, body and spirit. In the darkness of night, wrapped in misery, I swore vengeance upon them. Before I could enact any of my plans, different soldiers arrived and cut us all down.

“Other shades departed, but my spirit could not rest. At first, I was as weak in death as I was in life. The only strength I had was my patience. Years went by. Centuries. Millenia. Slowly, one drop at a time, strength and understanding grew inside me. I discovered I was not tied to the place of my death. I followed the trade caravans, resided in palaces with princes, and in hovels with peasants. I crossed the water from one port to the next. I arrived in this land with the first ships from Europe.”

He turned to face Mike. “In all those thousands of years, I sometimes encountered one such as you, who could see me and hear my voice. Eventually I learned how to inhabit those special ones and taste the delicious fruits of existence that had been denied me while I lived.” He closed his eyes, a half-smile on his lips, lost in memories. “In Thebes, I possessed the middle-aged owner of a wine shop, overcame my fears, and hired a beautiful young man, who showed me that joining could be more than pain and humiliation, that it could be wild joy and all-consuming bliss.”

Mike tried not to flinch when Vaggeroth reached out and touched his face. “What about the wine shop owner?”

A shrug from Vaggeroth. “His body sickened and died. I left him for another host, and another and another, embarking on a wondrous journey of physical enlightenment.” He grinned. “What, in more recent parlance, might be called a millennia-long ‘fuckathon.’ Is that the correct term?”

“Er, maybe.”

“The world began to change, faster and faster. Cities rose. The influence of reason and science grew, and although they never truly prevailed, they drove out belief in beings like me. Population increased, but the people who could see me and hear me grew less and less with each passing year. In between the times I could find another host, I existed in a sort of limbo. When I found you, it had been over a hundred years since I enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh.”

“Why didn’t you just cross over?” asked Mike.

“I tried that. I crossed over and crossed back again. I prefer it here. The afterlife is so deadly dull. And I was changing. I could feel it. Each new possession was easier than the last. Each one made me more powerful.”

“Harvey can’t see or hear you. How are you possessing him?”

“Like I said, I’m growing stronger. I’ve learned a new skill, crossed another milestone. The possibilities are limitless now.”

He ran a hand down one of his (Harvey’s) arms. “No offense, Mike. I enjoyed inhabiting you, but this one is something special. I’m keeping him for a while.”

“No,” said Mike, desperation making him reckless. “I’m younger. My body is in great shape and will last longer. I’m very flexible and I’ll do whatever you want. Be whatever you want.” He would have said anything, promised anything in that moment to get Marley – Vaggeroth – out of Harvey. “I won’t fight you. I’ll never fight you again.” He held his arms out to the side. “Have at it. Climb on in.”

Vaggeroth sneered at him. “You must think I’m a fool. I haven’t survived this long to be deceived by one such as you.” He raised the gun and pointed it at Mike’s face. “My plan was to use you and allow Harvey to watch, but you’re growing tedious. Maybe I’ll just shoot you and be done with you.”

“I’ll haunt you. Like, forever.”

“Now, now, don’t threaten me with a good time. You think I haven’t learned how to deal with troublesome spirits in all my long years? Why do you think you’ve not seen or heard anything from your obnoxious friend Rachel in a few days?”

“I assume she’s passed over.”

“No. She and her cohorts thought they could best me. They learned different.”

“What did you do to them?”

Vaggeroth gestured with the gun as he spoke. “It might interest you to know that even ghosts can be killed. It’s not the same as with a living, breathing person, but they can be snuffed out of existence, never to return. Drastic, I know, but she was really starting to annoy me.”

Marcus had moved away, squatting to rummage inside the leather satchel he’d brought with him. He rose to his feet and pivoted to face Vaggeroth, brandishing a wooden cross and holding what looked like a ragged bible with dozens of creased and torn post-it notes sticking out of it.

The demon rolled his eyes. “Are you serious right now?”

Marcus’s voice deepened and took on a commanding tone. “In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, I cast you out, unclean spirit.”

“That’s not going to work. I have known countless gods in my many years. I’m sorry to tell you that yours does not impress me.”

Marcus opened a glass vial and tossed what Mike assumed was holy water in the demon’s face. Mike wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen. Vaggeroth didn’t melt like the wicked witch in _The Wizard of Oz,_ or howl in pain. He didn’t even appear particularly angry, just world weary and a bit exasperated.

Continuing to hold the cross out, Marcus demanded that the demon leave Harvey’s body, praying, exhorting, his voice steadily rising in volume. As far as Mike could see, the power of Christ did not seem anywhere close to the compelling the demon to depart. Quite the opposite.

Vaggeroth turned the gun from Mike to Marcus, and to Mike it seemed that he intended to shoot the ex-priest as casually as one might swat a fly. Overhead, lightning flashed and the storm broke.

“Don’t,” said Mike.

A quick glance from Vaggeroth. He took aim. Mike leapt toward Marcus and shoved him out of the way. The gun went off. Something slammed into Mike’s shoulder. He looked down to see blood staining his t-shirt and running down his arm.

Mike turned his shocked gaze on Vaggeroth. “I will haunt you,” he managed to gasp before crumpling to the floor. He heard two bodies collide and then something clattered against the floor and skittered underneath the couch. The gun, he hoped, but couldn’t seem to open his eyes to verify.

Over and over again, Marcus commanded the demon to leave, calling upon the help of God, Christ and various archangels, his voice as loud as the thunder booming outside. Vaggeroth howled with laughter. Mike couldn’t move, could barely remain conscious. Lightning flashed behind his eyelids. Hail hit the windows, sounding like an army of ice spiders scrabbling for entrance.

The storm and the raised voices blended together into an earsplitting cacophony. Mike felt as if he was suspended in chaos. He wanted to do something to help Harvey, he wanted to fight Vaggeroth for the gun, he wanted to clamp his hands over his ears and shut out the noise. He couldn’t do any of these things.

It was all too much, so he let go, sliding into the beckoning safety of darkness and silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. 
> 
> Have a great holiday, if that is your inclination, and stay safe.


	11. Chapter 11

Slowly, the inky fog lifted and the heaviness that had been crushing Harvey lessened. Still, it was a struggle to break free, made worse as he gained awareness of his captivity. Sounds filtered into his consciousness. A deep voice recited a tale of ancient anguish and suffering with which Harvey found himself incomprehensibly connecting.

A different voice, this one speaking with a British accent, intruded, making demands. A splash of water hit his face accompanied by a burning sensation which faded quickly but served to rouse him further from wherever his consciousness had been lying dormant. Now he could make out vague shapes, colors, and movement, like peering through a window sheeted with rain.

The British voice prayed angrily, not beseeching but commanding. A quieter voice, faintly familiar, pleaded. _Don’t,_ it said. Something closer to him moved, and he realized with numb shock that it was his own arm, controlled by the thing that had climbed inside of him and taken control. The hand gripped a gun, his backup weapon. Before he could react, the gun went off. The sharp sound snapped him back to full awareness, sweeping away the rest of the cottony fog that had obscured the world.

The first thing he saw clearly was Mike on the floor, bleeding from his shoulder, apparently shot by Harvey’s own gun, with his own finger squeezing the trigger. An instant later, his view of Mike was blocked when a strange man stepped forward, holding a wooden crucifix just inches from Harvey’s face.

“Hear me, Vaggeroth,” intoned the man, “you do not belong here. In the name of Saint Michael the Archangel I command you to leave this body. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I drive you out. The power of Christ compels you.” He repeated the words, or variations of them, over and over, his intense blue gaze never leaving Harvey’s face.

Who is this guy, Harvey wondered. And who the hell is Vaggeroth? More importantly, why wasn’t anyone helping Mike? He tried to verbalize his confusion and panic, to order the praying man to call 911 and attempt to stop Mike’s bleeding, but something not remotely resembling Jesus had taken the wheel. He heard his own voice, distorted with some faint, unrecognizable accent, tell the British man to go fuck himself. And then he was laughing coldly, raising the gun and aiming it straight at the man’s face.

_No!_ Harvey shouted the word, or tried to, frustrated when no sound came out. The thing – Marley? Or was it Vaggeroth now? – laughed again, this time audible only to Harvey inside his head.

_You’re awake. How surprising. I thought you might be gone for good._

_What are you doing? Why did you shoot Mike?_

_He got in the way. I meant to shoot this fool._

_Who is he? What is he shouting about?_

_His name is Marcus Keane, and he thinks he’s going to exorcise me._

A spark of hope lit inside of Harvey. An exorcism? Was such a thing even possible? _Wonderful,_ he thought, loudly and emphatically. _I fully support his efforts._

_You would. Don’t get your hopes up._

_He seems pretty committed._

They watched together for a few minutes in almost companionable silence as the man, Marcus Keane, still praying, slowly circled them, laser-focused and seemingly determined not to let up until the job was done. Vaggeroth had lowered the gun, at least. Harvey might have relaxed if not for the reality that Mike still bled on the floor and nobody appeared inclined to help him.

It was disconcerting, having his consciousness enmeshed with this foreign presence. Vaggeroth had access to all of his thoughts and memories, and Harvey had access to all of his. There was a lot there, centuries and more, he realized. A deep dive into the ghost’s past might prove fascinating, but Harvey was more interested in recent events. Specifically, yesterday.

_You possessed Mike._ The implications of this revelation stunned him. It turned it hadn’t been Mike who had fucked him so expertly. It had been his body, but Vaggeroth had been the one driving.

The spirit sighed, giving the impression of profound boredom. _He allowed it, invited me in, just as you did. Although, I have to say you were much easier to convince. Or maybe I’m becoming more powerful. It’s quite remarkable. I feel myself evolving in ways I once never could have imagined._

_I don’t – and I can’t stress this enough – give a fuck about your personal issues. Look at what is right in front of you. Mike’s bleeding. I need you to help him right now, or vacate the premises so I can._

_Mike can bleed out for all I care. I’m not going anywhere._

Having calmed slightly by now, Harvey could now see that Mike’s wound did not appear to be imminently fatal. If left untreated for too long, however, there could be complications. He had to convince Vaggeroth to provide aid.

_You know I can read your thoughts, right? Despite what you say, you do care about Mike. You’re just angry at him right now. Why? What did he ever do to you?_

The spirit gave a soundless grunt. _He deceived me in order to drive me out._

_That’s your spin on things. We both know the truth. You’re just feeling butthurt because he rejected you._

_You’re the one who’s butt still hurts from last night. I’m guessing._

_Ha ha. Don’t change the subject. Mike allowed you in, gave you permission. Did he …_ Harvey hesitated. He knew the answer already but needed to hear Vaggeroth verify it. _Did he also give you permission to misrepresent yourself to me?_

_Misrepresent? Don’t mince words, darling. The answer to your question is no, he did not. He seemed genuinely distressed, although for the life of me I can’t see why. Admit it, that was the best fuck of your life. I made you come like Vesuvius, howling like Uridimmu in heat._

_Who?_

_Not important. Just pray you never run into him._

Marcus Keane broke off his exhortations long enough to open his ragged Bible and thrust it, along with the crucifix, into their face. “The power of Christ compels you!” he all but roared at them.

Was it Harvey’s imagination, or did he feel Vaggeroth flinch? The exorcist reached in his pocket for a vial and seconds later a splatter of water hit their face. Holy water, probably. Vaggeroth was clearly affected by it.

_It bothers you, doesn’t it?_

_Don’t be absurd._

_I’ll bet if he keeps that up, you’ll be looking for a new host soon enough._

Vaggeroth didn’t answer him directly, but Harvey could hear his thoughts just as the spirit could hear his, could feel his unease.

_You’re really worried, aren’t you?_

_Human … No. What would I have to be worried about?_

Harvey considered the question for a few seconds before replying. _Because existence is pointless without a body to possess. You’re just a disembodied annoyance, lurking in the shadows, cut off from everything that makes this world bearable._

_What do you know of it?_

_You have to ask? You may have noticed I’m a bit disembodied myself at the moment._

Vaggeroth lapsed into a sullen silence _._

_I’ll cut a deal with you,_ said Harvey. _Make sure Mike is okay, and I’ll let you stick around for a while longer._

_Oh, please. Like you could stop me._

Another splash of holy water hit their face. This time, Vaggeroth’s consciousness seemed to shudder and fade for just a moment.

_The exorcism is working. It’s only a matter of time before you’re gone._

Vaggeroth’s unease grew stronger.

_I never wanted to hurt anyone._

_You hurt Mike._

_I told you, that was an accident. I was aiming for the exorcist. Self-defense._

_So you did want to hurt someone. Liar._

Mike groaned, writhing slightly. Marcus Keane gave him the briefest of glances, never ceasing his prayers and commands. He thrust the crucifix at them, causing Harvey/Vaggeroth to stagger.

_See? Your time here is running out._ Inside his mind, he could sense a wavering in Vaggeroth’s resolve.

_Tell me more about this deal of yours,_ said the ghost/demon _._

_Get help for Mike. If he survives, you can have one last day to enjoy my body. Indulge yourself. Order all your favorite foods. Drink to your heart’s content. Have one last big blowout._

_What about sex?_

Harvey only hesitated for a second. _Don’t cause me any permanent harm and I guess I’m okay with it._ He could only hope he wouldn’t regret this with a literal demon.

_Interesting. And afterwards?_

_Afterwards, you leave. Vacate my body and go into the light. I’ll be left with the hangover and the messy morning after._

_You’d risk all that for Mike?_

It was as much a surprise to Harvey as it was to Vaggeroth. He didn’t bother replying, since they could read one another’s thoughts.

_Yes,_ said Vaggeroth, _I see. You care about him._

_Do we have a deal or not?_

More holy water. Another shudder rippled through them. Harvey could feel Vaggeroth weakening, so he went in for the kill. _The deal is good for ten more seconds. After that, we’ll just see how this all plays out with exorcist man._

Vaggeroth waited nearly the full ten seconds and then, sounding distinctly huffy inside Harvey’s head, Fine. _I accept your terms._

And just that quickly, Harvey felt the demon relinquish control. He could still sense him there, in the back of his mind, but for now, Harvey had his body back. He held up a hand, halting Marcus, who had been about to douse him with more holy water. “Wait,” he said, almost startled to hear his own words coming out of his mouth. “It worked. He’s gone.”

Marcus narrowed his eyes. “Why should I believe you?”

Harvey handed him the gun. “For starters, you can have this. I’ll … I don’t know. I’ll drink that holy water. I’ll touch your crucifix. Whatever it takes to convince you. But first you need to get out of my way and let me help Mike. And for fuck’s sake, call 911.”

He could hear Vaggeroth inside his head, laughing at “touch your crucifix.” He ignored him, and did his best not to think about the demon’s “last big blowout,” curtesy of Harvey’s body, if Mike survived.

No, not if. When he survived. He would survive, because Harvey could not allow himself to imagine a different outcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.
> 
> Kind of a short chapter, but hey, at least I managed to squeeze one out. We're nearing the end. Probably either one longish or two shortish chapters to go.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
